Forging the Future
by An Origami Fish
Summary: War on a scale the galaxy hasn't seen before has just broken out, the Yuuzhan Vong effortlessly destroying Sernpidal. Jedi Knight Tyria Sarkin Tainer must make the decision to send her son to a Mandalorian training camp so he can learn the skills necessary to survive. Join Doran as he meets new friends and enemies and discovers more about himself in his year with the Mandos.
1. Forging Beginnings

**Forging the Future**

"_Here's why you can't exterminate us,_aruetii_. We're not huddled in one place—we span the galaxy. We need no lords or leaders—so you can't destroy our command. We can live without technology—so we can fight with our bare hands. We have no species or bloodline—so we can rebuild our ranks with others who want to join us. We're more than just a people or an army,_aruetii_. We're a culture. We're an idea. And you can't kill ideas—but we can certainly kill you._"

―Mandalore the Destroyer

**FtF(Solus)FtF**

Thirteen year-old Doran Sarkin-Tainer normally didn't feel anxious or scared. He hadn't felt that way for a while, not since the adventure he had had four years ago when those emotions had led to him taking a life. Yet, at the moment, those were two emotions he couldn't exactly get a handle on. He had good reason to be scared though. Someone had just destroyed the entire planet of Sernpidal by smashing its moon into its surface. Not that most of the galaxy knew about the Yuuzhan Vong at the time.

Despite the many questions the destruction of the planet raised, the New Republic Senate was trying to keep a lid on the events. 'Not wanting to act rashly until the facts were truly established,' was one of the lines Doran had heard. Details were something almost no one knew anything about. The shell-shocked survivors of the Sernpidal incident had been quickly corralled away by New Republic Intelligence. Travel to the area was restricted, and the Senate was fighting itself into a stand-still. Some senators in the know wanted to start evacuating adjacent Outer Rim territories, a faction being led by Kuati Senator Viqi Shesh was trying to be a voice of reason by saying that there was no need to panic, Inner and Mid-Rim senators wanted explanations, and senators in charge of regions far from Sernpidal only cared because the talk about the planet was taking time away from their own sectors' issues.

Fortunately or not, with the connection his parents had with New Republic Intelligence, the consensus was that both his mom and dad seemed to believe something big was on the horizon. Something that most other people were brushing aside as nerves or as impossibility. Ever since his dad had sent his mom the packet of intel, Tyria Sarkin-Tainer had been unusually serious and grim. That only told the just-turned-teen one thing, things were _really_ bad. In all the adventures he had had with his mom, he had never seen her so worried. Even when he had been kidnapped as a child during negotiations on one of the many Outer Rim planets, Tyria had remained level-headed and calm. He had never felt in the Force the level of disquiet emanating from her.

Which, of course, was the source of his anxiety and fear.

"Mom?" Doran said in a low voice, entering the cockpit of the _Kell Dragon. _Their modified gunboat was currently in hyperspace, traveling along the Hydian Way.

Tyria turned to Doran, her green eyes watering slightly as she tossed her blond pony-tail over her shoulder. Forcing out an unconvincing smile, she reached out for Doran and pulled him into a hug. "I love you, you know that Doran, right?"

"I know, mom," Doran returned the hug. "Tell me. What's wrong?"

Doran watched his mother bite her lower lip, no doubt trying to convince herself of something. Finally, Tyria breathed out, calling upon the Force to soothe herself. "Sorry for scaring you, Doran. It's just, your dad thinks this galaxy's in for a very rough time, and… and you'll have to learn a few more skills than we have time to teach you."

"Skills? More Jedi abilities?" Doran asked.

Tyria's lips thinned as she shook her head. "No sweetie. You've been taught before right? There is more to being a Jedi than just learning how to move things with your mind. I'm talking about survival skills, the ability to make it out of any scrape no matter how bad things get."

"And you can't teach them to me? You said once you were an Antarian Ranger."

Tyria took hold of both of Doran's hands, her eyes never leaving his. "I can, but if your father's right, and he normally is on issues like this, you'll need to learn more than what I can teach you. Learn more and at a much faster rate than I can teach you."

"What are you saying?" Doran searched his mother's eyes uncertainly. Only at thirteen, he was almost at eye-level with her, which was saying something considering her relatively tall height.

"Your father and I called in a few favors with the Mandalorians," Tyria explained slowly. "We managed to get you into a training camp for Mandalorian Protectors run by one of _Mand'alor_'s lieutenants, a Goran Beviin."

Apart from being shocked that he was going to be training with Mandalorians, something in his mom's voice stuck with him. "Managed to get _me_ into the camp? You won't be there?"

Tyria swallowed heavily as she shook her head. She squeezed his hands just a bit. "Both the Jedi Order and New Republic Intel requested my help, so I'll be teaming up with your dad and Master Skywalker's Jedi while you're training. Think about it this way, Doran. This will be your first solo adventure. You can tell me all about it when I come back."

"How long?" Doran asked faintly, the anxiety he was feeling traveling from his brain to his stomach. He had seen first-hand how dangerous the galaxy could be, and had faced those dangers almost every single time with his mom at his side. Now, apparently the galaxy was about to become even _more_ dangerous, and he would be on his own.

At his question, Tyria was forced to look away. "A year, maybe."

"A year! Mom, I…"

"Doran, please," Tyria looked to him, using both her words and the Force to get her emotions across. Desperation, fear, anxiety, and an undercurrent of love brought him up short. "Please. Your father and I don't want anything to happen to you. And if what is about to happen to this galaxy is what we fear, than you'll need every advantage you can get to survive. This is the last thing _I_ want to do too, but if anything were to happen to your father and I…we'd want to join the Force knowing that we gave you all the tools possible for you to survive."

"You're scaring me, mom," Doran said shakily. "This all has to do with Sernpidal, right?"

Tyria nodded. "Please Doran, do this for me."

"I can still call you, right?" Doran said faintly, the excitement about training with the Mandalorians slowly eroding his fear.

Tyria nodded. "You better, buster."

"Alright," Doran breathed.

"Don't expect it to be easy," Tyria warned. "The Mandalorians are some of the best soldiers out there for a reason. Show them your best and then try to go beyond that. Also, you'll probably be one of the youngest ones there, so…"

"Mom," Doran interrupted her. "I'll be okay."

Tyria fell silent, looking away once more to the blue vortex outside the cockpit. "You better," Tyria repeated, none of the good-nature of her previous statement present in her voice.

"So, where are we heading? To the Mandalorian home planet?"

"To Mandalore? No. We're going to their training facility on the mining colony of Gargon," Tyria wiped at her eyes and spun around in her chair to double-check their coordinates. "We should arrive there at the end of the week, so we have plenty of time."

"Time to do what? We're in hyperspace."

Tyria smirked, the first sign of genuine amusement in a while. "The Mandalorians, like most warrior races in this galaxy, are one based off of honor and respect. Being an outsider, Jedi, and child in their eyes, you won't start off with a whole bunch of it. In fact, I didn't mention your Force-abilities, so you might want to keep that under wraps. Mandos and Jedi don't have the friendliest of histories, and you'll be crippling yourself by using the Force there anyways."

"This is starting to look like a _real_ fun adventure," Doran said sarcastically.

"Hush you," Tyria pulled out a datapad from the console. "This has several basic lessons in Mando'a, the traditional language of the Mandalorians. Try to get the standard 'hi,' 'bye,' and most used forms of respect down before we arrive. Don't forget the all important phrase of asking where the lavatories are. It should earn you a few points."

"And I'll just have to let my charming self earn a few more?" Doran said with a grin.

"That is if they don't shoot you. Force, your humor's as bad as your dad's."

Doran chuckled as he took the datapad and began scrolling through it. "Can you speak Mando'a, mom?"

"Just a few words," Tyria nodded. "When I was pregnant with you, your dad and I ran into a Mando tracking down a bounty. Trouble was, the bounty had intel the New Republic higher-ups wanted, and was also a really tricky son of a Hutt. The Mando turned out to be Goran, and we ended up saving his life after the bounty decided to blow a plasma conduit in his face. Your dad and I learned quite a few Mando curses then. After helping Goran get back to his homeworld, we were invited for a small thank-you dinner, and we picked up a couple more words then. "

"Is this another one of those cases where, even if I can use the Force to understand a language, it'll be more impressive if I can speak it?" Doran said sagely.

"Exactly," Tyria winked. "So go on, get to studying. I'll quiz you before we get there."

Doran lowered the datapad slowly. "Hey mom."

"Yes?"

"Be careful out there, okay?"

Tyria nodded, a tender expression softening her face. "I will Doran."

"And look after dad too."

"Definitely," Tyria nodded again. She pulled Doran into another hug. "You just do _your_ best to survive and your dad and I will be okay. Promise."

**FtF(T'ad)FtF**

The planet of Gargon was definitely a place only a Mandalorian could love. Half the planet appeared to be a desolate, rocky, wasteland pitted with phobium mines and processing plants. The other half was a lush, untamed, sinister-looking forest that seemed to stretch on forever. Sandwiching these two halves were two equally hostile and remote polar icecaps that saw temperatures drop below 200 kelvin during the winter seasons.

Even its lone moon was menacing, containing the skeletal remains of the shipyard that had once created pieces for the Empire's two Death Stars. Scarred and cored to accommodate the crews and equipment needed to create the planet-destroying space-stations, the moon was a mere shell of itself. The metal framework of the construction yard remained where it was, a haven for pirates, smugglers, and other forms of scum and villainy. The irregular orbit of the planet itself—caused by ecological damage from the heavy mining and construction—meant that, for the heavily inhabited regions of the planet, the days were several times longer than the few hours of night the rotation allowed.

If one had a check-list, one would see that Gargon was the perfect place to train the infamous, battle-hardened, Mandalorian Protectors. Not so much a good place to train a thirteen-year old budding Jedi who's extent of survival training was camping out in the wilderness of Yavin IV and participating in a few paramilitary training courses.

Viewing the planet from space, Doran could feel the apprehension radiate out from his mother. "Mom, I'll be fine." He tried to reassure her…and himself. He had been on a few adventures in hostile climates before, but never for longer than a week. To think he'd be spending the entire year on Gargon?

"I'll take you in to the spaceport," Tyria said slowly, as if drawing out her words could delay his eminent departure. "Goran said he would meet you there."

"I'll be fine," Doran repeated, seeing the tension in his mother's shoulders and the way the elder Sarkin Tainer was gripping the steering column in a white-knuckled grip.

"And you've packed the extra ration bars and made sure you have your comlink?'

"Mom," Doran sighed. He leaned over slightly so that his head was resting on her shoulder. "I've got everything. I understand and can speak enough Mando'a to survive. I'm going to be fine."

"I know you will be," Tyria breathed, shaking her head. She forced out another smile. "At least I'll be comforted to know that when you make it out of this, your chances of lasting in this crazy galaxy of ours will go up."

The _Kell Dragon_ broke orbit at its assigned time and began its scheduled approach to one of Gargon's many spaceports. There were others of course, not all of them legitimate or for public use, but the Shysa Starport was the only one that dealt with Mandalorian traffic and guaranteed an extortion-free landing.

A lone figure awaited them outside, dressed in full Mandalorian armor, his face hidden behind a standard Mandalorian helmet with green coloring.

"And there's Goran," Tyria whispered faintly.

"Mom?"

Tyria reached over and hugged Doran in a bone-crushing grip. "I love you. Good luck, Doran."

"I love you too, mom."

"This is as far as I go," Tyria gestured to threshold of the cockpit. "You have your own path to travel on now."

Doran collected his rucksack, filled with two changes of clothes, and various other personal affects. "May the Force be with you, mom."

Doran took one last long look around the _Kell Dragon_ before stepping up to the airlock. He took in and released several deep breaths, feeling his nerves come alive like live wires. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he slapped the door to the airlock. The door cycled, then opened, giving him a face full of cold, dry Gargon air.

Blinking at the sunlight streaming down into the landing pit, Doran stepped out; his feet making contact with the dirt-strewn ground. The lone figure awaiting him stayed where he was, and Doran had a feeling that the man was evaluating him.

"_Sucuy gar,"_ Doran tried in his elementary Mando'a. He could sense from the man's grimace that his first attempt at the language hadn't been as successful as he had hoped.

"You're the Sarkin Tainer _ad_?" The slightly mechanical-filtered voice of the Mandalorian said, tone betraying nothing about how the man felt.

"I'm Doran Sarkin Tainer, yes," Doran nodded. He smiled weakly and held out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

The Mandalorian stared down at him for a very long time. It was only seconds, but it felt like minutes to the young thirteen year old. Finally the Mandalorian shrugged. "I've had worse."

"Err…thanks?" Doran scratched the back of his head.

The Mandalorian looked up to the cockpit of the _Kell Dragon_ and nodded once, slowly and deliberately.

_Good bye, Doran._ Doran heard his mom send in the Force.

_Good bye, mom._ Doran sent back.

The _Kell Dragon_'s engines started up again, and the gunboat lifted off without any further delay. Doran watched it leave with a small pang, but like his mom had done, forced himself to keep a smile on his face. When the ship was out of sight, he turned back to the imposing Mandalorian. "It is a great honor, thank you for taking me on."

"You will have no leeway here, child," the Mandalorian warned. "Nor will I be able to guarantee your safety. I can only teach you how to be the best. It will be up to you to_ be_ the best."

"Understood, sir," Doran replied obediently, falling into step with the man. His mom had said the man was 'Goran,' but the man had yet to introduce himself.

"Your primary instructor will be Dinua Jeban. You will have the good fortune of informing her."

Doran again nodded. "How will I find her, sir?"

"If you belong here, you'll find her," the Mandalorian responded. "How old are you, child?"

"Thirteen," Doran answered, trying not to let being called 'child' get to him. It wasn't the first time he had to adjust to a different culture, and he knew that assuming one word held the same meaning across different cultures had caused many a conflict in the past.

"Then tell her to ready you for the _Verd'goten._ You will take it in a week.I will have no children in my camp."

Doran wracked his mind for the translation. It was obviously not one of the more common words, but at the same time _'verd'goten' _sounded important. Hoping it didn't mean 'battle to the death' or something Mandalorian sounding like that, Doran filed the question away for later. "I will, sir."

They piled into a plain looking speeder, and soon they were darting across the desolate, dusty landscape of several abandoned mines. The trip passed in silence, so Doran took the opportunity to mentally map the immediate surroundings of his new home. There wasn't much to see. Mounds of gravel as tall as skyscrapers were piled up all around them like sand dunes. Some had tunnels at the base of them, others had droids aimlessly sifting through them. He occasionally saw collection-and-processing sites for the gathered ore spread out amidst the dunes, but the area was definitely lifeless and inhospitable. The temperature was a bit on the colder side, but not unbearable. The fact it was mid-day and the weather was just above freezing, however, seemed to hint at much cooler climates.

Doran was far from discouraged however. This was simply a new planet, a new place to explore, a new people to know. His mother had always taught him to treat every new encounter as an adventure no matter how dull or scary it might seem.

"Your mother is a _Jetii_. Did you inherit her abilities?"

Startled by the question, Doran looked to the helmeted man. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you a _Jetii_ too?"

Doran looked to the man. He had the strangest feeling that Goran, if it was Goran, already knew the answer. "No sir. I'm simply a kid who was lucky enough that his parents had the right connections."

"Keep it that way," the Mandalorian nodded in approval. "You've come here not to learn Jedi tricks, but to learn how to live, how to survive. Even if it's a matter between life or death, if I've discovered you used the Force, that day will be your last at my camp."

"It's a good thing I'm not a Jedi then," Doran said, trying to inject humor into the situation.

"A very good thing," the Mandalorian inclined his head.

The speeder turned at several intervals and finally their destination came into view. It was a star-shaped mining platform of tremendous size, easily wider than two frigates side-by-side and just as long. Some sort of shaft extended down from the center of the platform and into a mesa of black rock below it. Above, spider-webs of metal walkways connected the platform to what appeared to be several decommissioned space-docks. An array of repulsor-pads the size of X-wings kept the docks afloat; which was a good thing considering nasty looking crystalline rocks jutted out from the ground in a literal and figurative show of breathtaking beauty.

"This will be your home for the next year, provided you last, kid. Do me a favor and try not to get yourself killed. Having a Jedi and spec ops soldier angry at me would be a tad annoying."

"No promises," Doran replied, his eyes still riveted to the sprawling aerial complex casting shadows on the gray rocks all around them. They passed into one of the shadows and the temperature dropped dramatically. Shivering, Doran hoped the Mandalorians were at least sane enough to keep the inside of the training facility heated. He highly doubted it though.

"Due to…recent events," the Mandalorian said, interrupting Doran's thoughts. "You'll be part of a much larger group of newcomers. Since I have no desire to repeat myself seventy times, there will be a mandatory assembly in the main hall after dinner. That gives you eight hours to find Dinua and start your training."

"Understood, sir."

The speeder angled into one of the tunnels in the gravel mound beneath the hovering platform, and Doran was treated to a rushed view of unstable-looking walls illuminated with evenly placed glow-lamps. The speeder continued on until it reached a platform just a little larger than it.

"This is your stop," the Mandalorian gestured to a turbolift tube that disappeared into the ceiling.

Grabbing his lone pack of belongings, Doran hopped out of the speeder. "Thanks for the ride Mr. Mandalorian."

Doran could swear the Mandalorian had rolled his eyes. "It's Goran Beviin, _ad_."

Doran grinned and saluted the Mandalorian while stepping back into the turbolift tube. "See you later!" Doran inclined his head at the impassive helmet that stared at him, before the turbolift platform activated and whisked him up into the air.

**FtF(Ehn)FtF**

Doran wasn't exactly sure what to expect when the turbolift reached its destination. He'd never met a Mandalorian before, much less been inside a Mandalorian home. Though his mom wasn't adverse to danger—in fact she had taken him on enough missions of varying peril that some 'normal' mothers might question her mothering ability—Tyria was scarily good at using her Force abilities to avoid missions with _too_ much peril. Then again, it all depended on what one's definition of 'too much' was. He doubted many teens had an opportunity to take down a ring of corrupt Bothans, helped to end a blood feud just as it was taking off, talked with an honest Hutt, or brought a droid that actually worked from odorless Jawas. Only thirteen and he had already seen three corners of the galaxy, met Jedi from the Republic era…and taken lives. But he had yet to meet the renowned Mandalorians in any setting, cantina or otherwise.

When the lift platform came to a stop, Doran stepped down onto the durasteel floor and took his first look at the inside of the training facility. Evidently it was designed to ensure that any unwanted visitors up the lift tubes would face a relatively quick death. Stepping off the lift platform, he had found himself at the bottom of a fairly deep pit surrounded by curving metal walls. A lone ladder was the only way to leave the room, and Doran could tell from a low hum that came from it that the metal rungs were electrified.

Doran looked around the room, figuring someone was observing him. "Goran Beviin told me to find Dinua Jeban."

"_Poor_ _ossik_," came the response from a well-camouflaged speaker box.

The electric current disappeared, along with its accompanying hum.

_"Smarter than the last three dikute that came through though," _a second voice commented with amusement. "_I thought we'd have another crispy Mandalorian pretender."_

Doran hesitated a moment, tentatively reaching a hand out for the ladder.

_"Zap!"_ The first voice called out suddenly.

Doran nearly leaped into the air, his heart pounding. Glaring up at the ceiling, he gripped the ladder definitively and began climbing. "Very funny."

_"Should have seen your face, ad. Couldn't resist."_

"Bored with the guard duty?" Doran continued the conversation as he began his ascent.

_"We didn't go through our training just to be glorified doormen," _the second voice dourly replied.

"Think of it this way, you're ensuring that future Mandalorians aren't the sort of idiots who grab electrified ladders."

_"It doesn't help much. Doesn't take a lot of brains to electrify dikute."_

"Come on guys," Doran continued conversationally. He did so, partly to be friendly, but also to keep himself from being terrified. "Work with me. What about the pride you'll get by ensuring the safety of us future Mandalorians? You can't just entrust the door to anyone. I'll even tell Mr. Beviin you're doing one heck of a job at your duty."

"_Ad, we __can__ turn the electricity back on at any time you know. You tell him that and this is __all__ we'd be doing."_

"And here I thought I was making my first friends," Doran said with a smile borne from pure nervousness and fear. He hastily reached the top of the ladder and pulled himself through a hatch.

After the freezing cold outside, the blast of warm air was a definite shock. Evidently the Mandalorians _did_ keep their facility heated, heated at a balmy tropical clime with high humidity. The sudden change caused Doran to shudder. Sitting at a desk just a few meters away from the hatch were two Mandalorians in full armor, their helmets resting atop the desk. They both gave him half nods, attempting to be stern, but betrayed by the glimmering in their eyes and the twitch at the corners of their mouths.

"Su'cuy, ad," the Mandalorian on the right greeted. His deep tones immediately letting Doran know that this was the owner of the second voice over the intercom. "The name's Teroc. You sure you're in the right place?"

"Not at all," Doran said, taking a moment to look around. He found himself in a small transparasteel cube-like office, giving Doran a clear view of the many activities happening outside. The former mining platform had been transformed into a giant gym.

A series of heavy ropes replaced the electrical wiring of long-absent machinery and were strung out from wall to wall like jungle vines. These had a small handful of physically fit Mandalorian climbing on them at almost complete vertical and horizontal angles while in full armor. Several drill shafts appeared to been converted into swimming holes of some sort, and more individuals were diving in with weights attached to their arms and legs. A far wall had been converted into an obstacle course, with various hazards like gouts of flame and swinging metal balls adding to the danger. A shooting range was stationed across from this, adjacent to a section seemingly devoted to cardio exercises.

"What is this place?" Doran managed. "Some sort of fitness club?"

"This place is our workout area," the Mandalorian on the left said, his voice tinged with amusement. "The initiates here come here to blow off some steam. Your training facilities are located in the wings. You won't be allowed access to the center again until you get instructor approval. Wouldn't want you to hurt that baby-face of yours."

"Thanks for caring," Doran replied.

"Then again, you said you have Jeban as your instructor, right?" Teroc shook his head, an expression of sympathy on his face. "As big a boy as you are, she'll chew you up and spit you out. Two guys a lot bigger, older, and tougher than you already washed out because of they couldn't keep up with the schedule she set. So don't get too comfortable here."

"Already have a wager going, don't you?" Doran tilted his head.

The Mandalorians chuckled. "You're not all that bad, kid. Yeah, I've got twenty credits that says you'll be going home before the week is out. Shukir here thinks you won't even last past your first full day."

"If I last the full year?"

"You do that, you'll have the respect of our clan, and our apologies," Shukir replied, looking dubious. "Anyways, you might want to get going. Dinua Jeban doesn't appreciate training partners, even more so if they're late."

"Where can I find her?"

Shukir's partner took a moment to glance about the room. After a few seconds passed, he gestured towards one of the sparring rings. "She's over at the Battle Circle today, it looks like. I wonder what _shabla_ made a pass at her this time."

Doran followed the Mandalorian's gesture. When his eyes stopped at the lone female in the circle, his mouth went dry and his eyebrows rose.

She was beautiful.

The female teen's loose workout pants and exercise tunic only enhanced her physically fit form. Her raven-black hair, tied back in a loose pony-tail, whipped around as she delivered a spinning kick to her opponent. The heel of Dinua's foot impacted with the jaw of her opponent, the sound of his teeth clacking together nearly audible over the sounds of the other activities occurring in the room. Her opponent, who had been a head taller than her with biceps almost as big as her slender face, swayed for a moment, then collapsed to the ground.

Doran thought that the match was over, but then another male stepped into the ring. Evidently he was the buddy of the one that had just been knocked out because he was gesturing at several others to drag the dazed combatant out of the ring. This new challenger was clearly a bit smarter, keeping his distance as he and Dinua circled each other in the ring.

"Well," Shukir chuckled darkly. "Aren't you going to go introduce yourself?"

"For some reason I feel safer in this cube," Doran deadpanned, unable to tear his eyes away from the deadly warrior woman in action. Her new opponent decided to launch an all-out attack, attempting to overwhelm her with his size and strength. Dinua, however, agilely continued to skirt along the outer edges of the fighting ring, goading her attacker with taunting strikes to his arms and legs.

Obviously frustrated, her opponent appeared to say something to her. It was probably the worst thing he could have done. Dinua's brown eyes flashed with sheer hatred, and she promptly lashed out. She was a whirlwind of motion, knocking aside his arms as she spun in for the kill. She slammed her elbow into the man's nose, then snapped a harsh kick into the man's left knee. As he went down, she grabbed one arm, twisted it, and promptly stomped on the awkwardly angled limb. Before the man could howl, she drove her knee into his face and threw him to the ground. It was clear she wasn't going to stop with that, and the others around the ring seemed to realize it. Before she could inflict a fatal injury to the blooded combatant, several of the observers quickly rushed in to subdue her. After a moment of struggle, she shook them off with a glare, grabbed a towel off the bench, and stalked off; her face expressionless.

"Go on," Teroc said with great amusement. "Good luck."

Doran swallowed, his mouth dry despite the humidness of the room. "Thanks…I think."

**FtF(Cuir)FtF**

As Doran trailed after the irate killer Mando-in-training, he briefly realized a glaring absence in his education. Though his mom was good at ensuring he knew his Basic, math, and history, as well as Jedi abilities and self-defense, for some reason she had neglected to explain the mystery of girls. Sure he had talked to a few around his age before, his best friend Sannah being one of them, but he never really had to approach one by himself. He didn't think he'd be exaggerating if he said that a single misspoken word to this Mandalorian could get him killed.

He shook his head, trying to rid it of the images of a very attractive teenage girl who probably didn't want to have anything to do with him. Though he was good friends with Sannah, she was still a little girl and just an occasional acquaintance with whom he could share his stories with. Dinua, on the other hand, was every bit the attractive young woman a guy might like; aside from the whole willingness to break your bones for talking to her.

And to think he was going to have to spend an entire year learning from her.

He sighed as he mentally reviewed his predicament. The attraction was far more than physical. There was something else about her that he couldn't get out of his head even if he tried. Without using the Force, during that brief moment he had watched her fight, he could tell that she was hurting. Hurting bad, and yet pushing on despite the pain. He had also seen similar pain in a survivor of the Jedi Purge he and his mom had stumbled across. His lessons with an Echani instructor had taught him how to learn about others through the way they fought; and he had learned much about Dinua in her brief flurry of motion. For some reason, his heart went out to the Mandalorian teen and he suddenly wanted to do _something _to make that pain go away.

Doran groaned, now realizing just how much he was regretting the obvious gap in his education.

He pushed aside the doors to the outer ring of the mining platform and was immediately inundated with a rush of cold, arid air. Holding up a hand to ward off the intense afternoon sun, he could see the figure of Dinua Jeban walk across a narrow catwalk to one of the floating platforms on the other side.

"Dinua Jeban!" Doran called out, his voice frighteningly loud in the deathly silence of their surroundings.

The teenage Mandalorian paused, but didn't turn around. Taking that as a sign, Doran hurried his way across the catwalk to catch up. Thankfully, the Mandalorian remained where she was. Leaping over one last length of ventilation piping, Doran came to a halt a few steps away. Small wisps of steam continued to rise off her sweat-slickened form as her exercise-warmed body chilled in the atmosphere of Gargon.

"Hi," Doran breathed faintly.

The Mandalorian teen's face could have been carved from stone as she regarded him without emotion. "What do you want, ad?"

"You're Dinua Jeban, right? Goran said to tell you that you were going to be my instructor."

The look of absolute disbelief was clear on her face as she looked him over. "Clearly he was joking."

"Errr…." Doran rubbed the back of his head. "I don't think so."

The teen looked away, muttering a series of curses under her breath. "You're trying to become a Mandalorian?"

"Not really," Doran shook his head. "Just trying to learn how to survive."

A thin dark eyebrow arched at the comment, but evidently it had been the right answer. "Combat experience?"

"Some."

Intense dark brown eyes bore into him, evaluating him, judging him. "At least my father didn't send me a complete lost cause this time."

"Thanks, I think? Wait, Goran's your father?"

"He is now," Dinua replied tersely. "Did he tell you anything else?"

Still slightly surprised by the revelation, Doran struggled to keep up. "Yes, something about preparing me for a verd-go-something or another. He wants to test me in a week."

"_Verd'goten?_" Dinua's eyebrows shot up. "You mean you haven't even…How old are you?"

"Thirteen," Doran regarded the Mandalorian, who looked him over once more.

"Big for your age. Are you just a human?"

"Yeah, got a bunch of my dad's genes. Started my growth spurt two years ago," Doran shrugged, a little self-conscious. "How about you? How old are you."

"Survive the _Verd'goten_ and I'll tell you," Dinua shook her head. She continued the trek he had interrupted.

"What's a verdgoten?" Doran asked hesitantly. A door whooshed open and led them into a utilitarian metal corridor.

"Scared?"

"Not really. Last year, I got involved in some rite with a name I could barely pronounce and didn't understand. I ended up drinking two cups of bitter-beetle juice and dancing around a fireplace in a loin cloth," Doran deadpanned. "By the end of the day, I was apparently promised to some chieftain's daughter with the hopes that any offspring would be Force-sensitive and able to lead them to a new future."

Dinua halted in her tracks. Doran, realizing what he had just said, groaned. "Err…I don't suppose you'll forget about what I just said?"

Dinua, however, turned her stone-cold eyes towards him. "You're a _Jetii_?"

"Just in training," Doran winced, hoping that not being a full-fledged Jedi would give him some leeway.

Dinua muttered another curse under her breath. When she looked up at him, her eyes were full of loathing. "Great, I take it back. You're worse than those washouts that came before you. You're nothing but a _dar'manda._"

"A what?"

Dinua, however, advanced on him, pressing her forearm against his throat and grabbing his shirt. Her voice was but a whisper, but with lethal qualities. "Listen, _dar'manda_, I intend to become _Or'ramikad_, and I _will_ not let you screw this up for me. You slow me down, I'll kill you. You embarrass my name, I'll kill you. You so much as use an iota of your Jedi powers when I'm training you…"

"You'll kill me," Doran, flatfooted by her initial surge of action, managed to push her back. "Yeah, I got it."

"Becoming Mandalorian is no joke," Dinua growled, her voice just as cold as the weather outside the building. "This is not a place to have fun, to 'enjoy' living. If you think it is, save me the trouble and throw yourself off the side of the platform."

"Alright! Geez!" Doran held up his hands.

Dinua took a moment to collect herself, when she did she began walking again, but at a much faster pace. "_Verd'goten_ is a rite of passage from child into adulthood. Mandalorians are not considered 'adults' without passing it, regardless of age. It's a simple test of skills and survival; blaster, knife, hand-to-hand, endurance, hunting, and more. Most Mandalorian children are trained from a young age to ready themselves for it. We, on the other hand _dar'manda_, only have a week."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We are going to make sure you pass," Dinua said emotionlessly. "I hope you consider yourself in excellent physical shape, _dar'manda_. Because this next week will be nothing compared to any training you've had before. Get settled in, we'll begin tomorrow."

**FtF(Rayshe'a)FtF**

With the ominous threat of 'training' looming over him, Doran decided to try and spend the rest of the day learning about his home for the next year. The area he had followed Dinua into was the living quarters for some of the more experienced 'students' at the compound. His own quarters was on the opposite side of the decommissioned and re-appropriated, construction yard. The yard itself—shaped like two arches facing one and other and with a series of rusted-coated metal catwalks that tied the two halves of the construction yard together—was one of several unique, sprawling platforms that made up the Mandalorian training camp. Even given a year, Doran didn't think he'd ever be able to visit every single corner.

Once he had deposited his single sack of belongings in a room full of hammock-like bunks, he set out with the intent to explore as much as he could. But before he could get far, his stomach growled—loudly. With a sigh, he followed a series of signs and eventually came to a dining commons of sorts. It was jammed packed. But what surprised Doran the most was the diversity of those in the room. There were human, Weequay, Rodian, Rattataki, Dug, Nikto, Duros, and many others, all milling about around utilitarian metal tables spread throughout the room. He hadn't seen such a diverse array of species since his mother had taken him to Coruscant as a child. Of course, one other thing he noticed was that he was probably the youngest one in the room. He supposed he was fortunate his large build let him look a couple of years older than he actually was. Even then, he stood out amongst the grizzled veterans and uniformed twenty-somethings that filled the room.

"New here?"

A voice from behind him caused him to jerk in surprise. He spun around and found himself glancing down at his chest-level at another girl around his age. Caring blue eyes shining kindly and with curiosity, the teenage girl held out a hand. "_Su'cuy. Ni cuyi Tracyn Gedyc. Bal gar?"_

The Mando'a was said in an accented, soft lilt, a gentle heart-shaped face framed by strands of brown-blond hair was tilted back as she searched his face questioningly.

"Sorry," Doran hastily rubbed his hands on his clothes and reached out for an abortive shake. "Err…Ni cuyi Doran. Doran Sarkin Tainer. Oh, and _su'cuy._ I got it right this time, I hope?"

At his use of Mando'a, the teenage girl before him giggled in what Doran found was a very cute way. "Nice to meet you Doran."

"So, you said you were Tracyn Gedyc, right?"

"Uh huh," she lightly slipped a hand into one of his and tugged him to a nearby table. "_Verburyc ad be Manda'yaim."_

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. I'm not exactly Mandalorian," Doran apologized, letting the smaller teen guide him into a seat.

"Oh, sorry," Tracyn looked abash, her long hair falling to partially obscure her face. "I was just saying I was born on _Manda'yaim_, Mandalore to you Basic speakers."

"I was born on Coruscant," Doran supplied, warming to the girl.

"A long way from home," Tracyn smiled faintly. "You're new here, right? I've been here for a couple of months already and think I would have seen you before. You kind of….stand out."

"No kidding," Doran chuckled.

"Don't worry, you're not the only non-native here. All the proper Mandalorians only care about a person's character, not where they're from or who their parents are."

"That's a relief on two counts," Doran said with an exaggerated swipe of his forehead

Tracyn giggled again. "Are you liking it here?"

"I'll get used to it," he shrugged. "I've been to worse places."

Blue eyes twinkled. "Sounds like there's a story to tell."

"More than one," Doran laughed louder.

"You'll have to tell me some…oh no," Tracyn's expression fell, her blue eyes focusing on someone behind him.

Doran glanced over his shoulder and saw a group of older teens, the type that let their testosterone do the thinking, head their way.

"I'm sorry," Tracyn said, her expression pained "I shouldn't have started a conversation with you. Damn it, why can't those _dikute_ just leave me alone!"

Before Doran could ask what she meant, the leader of the four approaching them proclaimed his intentions quite loudly. "Well, well. Looks like the _Kyr'tsad ad'ika _has gotten herself another playmate. We have to do something about that, _vode_. Can't let the _Kyr'tsad_ reform in front of our noses, can we?

"Leave him alone, Kote!" Tracyn hissed darkly, her soft voice sounding feeble compared to Kote's bravado. "_Usenye! _Why do you have to be such an _ori'jagyc?"_

Doran noticed how several tables were quickly pulled to the side, leaving a clear lane for Kote and his flunkies. He also noticed that despite her words, Tracyn seemed to shrink at Kote's approach. The action awakened a protective instinct in him that overrode his survival instinct. Which, in retrospect, probably wasn't the best of choices at the time.

"Look, I don't know what this kyrstad or whatever is, and I don't really care." Doran rose to his feet and kept himself and the table in front of Tracyn.

Kote, however, let out a barking laugh at that, holding out his hands. "Ooo, hear that _vode?_ This _or'diniika_ doesn't care. Well, if you want to be a Protector, you should!"

A fist lashed out faster than lightning. Doran just barely managed to move his head out of the way, but he still received a glancing blow that sent him staggering into the table behind him.

"The _Kyr'tsad_ are nothing but trash," Kote growled, throwing a fist at Doran's gut, and then a haymaker towards his head. A spin kick rounded off the trio of rapid attacks. "Murderous, vicious, thugs!"

Doran blocked the attacks and spun away from the kick, but the impact of Kote's fists on his forearms left his forearms aching rather painfully. Kote had at least several more kilos in terms of muscle mass, and Doran knew any direct hit would likely end the fighting.

The handle of a something was placed into one of his hands, and on instinct, Doran lashed out.

Needless to say, Kote did not appreciate having a dinner fork jammed into his fist. With one wild swing that connected, the enraged Mandalorian sent Doran's large form sprawling over the dinner table and fighting for consciousness.

Towering over the dazed Doran, Kote pulled the fork free and sneered at the younger teen's crumpled form. "Start caring, _ad._ You keep hanging out with her, we'll do worst to you. Understand?" He punctuated the words with a vicious kick to Doran's downed form. Then, with a laugh, he gestured for his entourage and they followed him out of the room.

"Don't worry," Doran groaned, seeing a worried Tracyn crouched over him. "I'll get use to it."

"That _mir'osik! Hut'uun!_" Tracyn fumed, glaring at the door Kote had disappeared through. "_Kaysh ni skana'din!"_

"Tell me how you really feel," Doran grimaced as she helped him into a seated position. "Anyone get the number of the speeder that hit me?"

"That…person, is Kote Lok," Tracyn pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at Doran's split lip. "I know Mandalorians aren't supposed to care about their lineage, but his is one of those long-lived ones…somehow. Apparently an ancestor of his was even _Mand'alore _once."

"So he's like Mandalorian royalty?"

"He wishes he was one," Tracyn sighed, shaking her head.

Doran scrunched his forehead in thought. "What was that he was saying about kyr'stad?"

"_Kyr'tsad_," Tracyn corrected, bowing her head. "It's a splinter group from the main Mandalorian enclave that advocates the return of the Mandalorian Empire. Both my grandparents and my parents were active members."

"'_Were'_?"

The light seemed to leave her eyes as she recited. "This is the stuff of holodramas. My more famous grandmother was Isabet Reau, a _Kyr'tsad_ fanatic obsessed with bringing about a new era for our people. Somewhere along the way, she had a lover who was killed by people unknown. Fast-forward three years and she discovers who killed said lover. She ended up going off the deep-end and tried to take on an entire clan by herself. Her body was never found, but the fact that the clan still lives kind of says which side won. My grandfather was Lorka Gedyc, _Kyr'tsad_'s Overlord of the time. He and grandmother got together shortly after that lover of hers was killed, and had my dad. Then the mainstream Mandalorians tracked down my grandfather and killed him. My dad and mom were never married, had me young, then got themselves killed following the next Overlord. Happy story, isn't it?"

Tracyn's dead tone caused Doran to flinch. "Very."

"Anyways, that's why Kote has a grudge. I'm an affront to the purity of his Mandalorianness and it goes against everything he believes in if others think that my way of life is a good thing. You should probably stay clear of me unless you want your head bashed in. Kote's definitely not afraid to do it."

"Well, at the moment, I've met exactly six Mandalorians. You, Kote, Dinua Teroc, Shukir, and Beviin. Of those six, only two haven't joked about killing me, you and Teroc," Doran tried to keep his tone light for her sake, but he was secretly wondering if he had made a mistake coming to the training facility.

"Teroc's also _Kyr'tsad_," Tracyn brightened. "He's supposed to be looking out for me and any other descendants of _Kyr'tsad. _Training for Protectors is open to all Mandalorians regardless of their past, but as you saw, not all Mandalorians are chummy with each other. Also, we're forbidden from becoming _Or'ramikade_, Mando Supercommandos, and a few other more sensitive positions. It was _Mand'alor_'s way of compromising with the hardliners like Kote's clan who'd rather shoot us on sight."

"This _is_ a training facility, right?" Doran said anxiously, glancing around the room.

"It is, but many Mandalorian clans aren't picky about who they invite into their clan. I'd say only thirty, maybe forty-percent of the people in this barracks were actually born on _Manda'yaim_ or one of her colonies. The others are mercenaries, former soldiers, children of former soldiers, skilled armor-smiths, techies, and the random person in the galaxy who somehow managed to make an impression on the clan leader. The population of _Manda'yaim_ is only a few million as it is, so it's not like we have a large pot to draw from. The instructors here have to really sniff out those fit to protect _Manda'yaim_ and serve _Mand'alor_, and those just trying to get 'Mandalorian training' on their resume."

"That explains a few things," Doran sighed, immediately thinking about his promised training. "I'm in the latter category at the moment, so I hope my trainer doesn't hold it against me."

Tracyn's kind blue eyes searched his face. "Wait, you said you knew 'Dinua.' This wouldn't be Dinua Jeban, would it?"

"Yes, she's supposed to be teaching me all things Mando," Doran confirmed, watching Tracyn's blue eyes grow wide in shock and fear. "What?"

Tracyn looked down. "_Kaysh gana birov haastale. _Be careful around her, please. She's in a tough place right now has a _jaro, _death wish, too, I think. Being Commander Beviin's adopted daughter probably doesn't help much either. Listen to her instructions, but try not to take some of her harsher words to heart."

"I heard about the last couple of guys she trained."

"Complete _nibrale_…losers," Tracyn shook her head. "One of them was just a bounty-hunter trying to emulate the great Boba Fett. Lasted a single week. The other was a Mando from a prestigious clan. He lasted a month, during which, she utterly destroyed, humiliated, and even got him kicked out of his clan. Never heard what happened to him after he left the camp in just his skivvies."

"Great."

"Don't worry. I can already tell you're not like those other two. For one, neither of them gave me the time of day," Tracyn patted his arm reassuringly.

"Any tips then?"

"Be patient," Tracyn said softly, reaching out to grip one of his hands. "And remember. Some wounds take a very long time to heal. Come on, let's get you to the medbay. It's still another five hours until dark, so that should be enough time to patch you up. A tip to survive in this place? Avoid getting hit by Kote in the near future."

"On my things to do list," Doran grimaced as Tracyn helped him to his feet, his ribs protesting against any movement. Their height difference was almost amusing. Whereas Dinua had at least been as tall as his chin, Tracyn barely came up to his chest.

"What are you, a human-Wookie hybrid?" Tracyn grumbled, trying to support his weight.

"And what are you, shrimp? A Mando-Ugnaught hybrid?"

"An Ugnaught!" Tracyn repeated incredulously. "I'll have you know my cuteness is from my Ewok genes! Ugnaught my _shebs_."

The laughter of the two young teens echoed down the hallway, brightening an otherwise lifeless barracks. Unseen by either of them, their departure was watched by several individuals, each with their own plans and motives in mind. The place was, after all, a Mandalorian training facility, and no one there was looking for friends.

**FtF(Resol)FtF**

"You don't have to be here," Doran whispered, walking side-by-side with Tracyn towards the assembly hall.

"I know, but I didn't want Kote cornering you or something," Tracyn replied contritely. "We Mandalorians kind of have a saying. 'Always have someone watching your back, and if you don't, that's where the enemy will strike'. You stood up to me back there, the first one in the place to really do so. I'm just returning the favor."

Blushing slightly, Doran shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."

The two of them stood out by not standing out. They were clearly the youngest, least armed and armored, and least scarred, ones present. Doran felt his nerves almost get the better of him as he tried to walk between a squad of veteran, battle-scarred soldiers, and he was suddenly grateful for Tracyn's support. In the center of the room was a raised platform, visible to everyone no matter where they were standing. Opting to remain in the back, both Doran and Tracyn pressed themselves up against a nearby wall, scrutinizing the others in the room.

There appeared to be about sixty others, some wearing clothing with their clan markings, others wearing custom-made armor or clothing denoting their military background. Most were clustered in groups around flimsiplast tables, talking in low voices with one and other and evaluating the rest of the crowd much like Doran and Tracyn were doing.

"Recognize anyone?" Doran whispered in a low voice.

"A couple of clans," Tracyn nodded, warily eyeing several larger individuals who edged pass them. "Some are on the bubble in terms of prestige. The _Mando'ade,_ as they are now are kind of a dying race. With no glory, no sense of pride or honor in our heritage, only credits fueling our hunger. Many clans are in decay. For those clans," she gestured with her head in several directions. "Those men and women are probably their last shot at maintaining their clan's honor and dignity. After all, if it wasn't for the _Resol'nare_, our code of conduct, there is very little that separates a Mandalorian from a regular mercenary."

"The _Resol'nare_, that's the oath to wear armor, speak the language, raise Mando babies, defend your family, help your clan, and listen to Mandalore, right? Errr…from what you told me, do the _Kyr'tsad_ follow it too?"

"Yeah," Tracyn smiled approvingly at his quick thinking. "My _Kyr'tsad_ clan-mates follow the code, but replace _Mand'alor_ with our Overlord. They don't recognize _Mand'alor_'s authority, so many _Mando'ade _see this as a heresy of sorts. I'll tell you more about my clan later."

"Okay," Doran returned to his people-watching. "Are there any of your _Kyr'tsad_ clan-mates in this room?"

Tracyn looked around again, her heart-shaped face darkening after a moment. "Not so much clan-mates, but there _are_ _Kyr'tsad_ in the room."

"Sounds like there's a story to tell," Doran mimicked some of the words she had told him earlier.

"Later," Tracyn breathed when the lights in the room began to dim.

Silence began to settle on the crowd, as all eyes turned to the central platform in the middle of the room. A second later, and a quintet of heavily armored Mandalorian soldiers rose up unceremoniously out from the center of the platform. Speakers along the length of the room made the leader of the five just as audible as he was visible.

"The law is not for the just," a voice Doran recognized as Goran, started. "It is not for those who do good or those who would uphold it. For they uphold the law within their hearts without anyone telling them to. The law is made specifically for those who will break it. There would be no law against murder unless there are people inclined to murder. No law against corruption, if there were no people who are weak at heart. No law against extortion, usury, and other monetary crimes if there weren't people who'd let their greed get the better of them. The law was created as a reminder to those who run afoul of it, reminding them where in society they stand and why they deserve the fates we the Mandalorian Protectors unleash upon them. Mandalorian Protectors are the judge, jury, and executioner, keeping our clans safe and united by upholding the law within their hearts. Most all of you in this room were adopted by one clan or another, each striving to prove to yourself and to your clan-leader that you are worthy of the name Mandalorian. Only some of you will succeed in this task. A select few will even surpass what is expected of you and be invited into the ranks of the _Or'ramikad_, the arm of _Mand'alor_ himself. And a select few of you will probably die during training. But there is no reward without risk, no glory without effort."

One of the other Mandalorians stepped forward. "By now, all of you will have been assigned an instructor or training squad. You _will_ obey every order given by your instructor or squad leader. You _will not_ wear a single piece of _beskar'gam_ until you've _earned_ the right. If I catch any of you parading around in our armor before you've been given the honor to do so…let's just say I won't be very forgiving."

"One other thing," Goran continued. "Some of you may have heard the rumors of an impending alien invasion. Some of you might even want to fight. The Mandalorian Protectorate under _Mand'alor_ have allied themselves with the Yuuzhan Vong against the New Republic. Do not question _Mand'alor_'s decision, he is doing what is best for _Manda'yaim_ and her people. If you feel that this is a mistake, leave this facility now. This will be your only chance to do so. If not, in the near future, should you make it through the training, there is a good chance you will be fighting the New Republic and their Jedi allies."

Doran's eyebrows shot up, and he felt Tracyn's hand tighten around his, the petite teen glaring daggers at Goran. He distinctly heard her mutter the words '_shabuirla ver'verd,' _and felt genuine anger flare from her for a brief second. At first, he wondered if she had guessed his Jedi heritage.

But then, he had a feeling that she wasn't so much angry on his behalf, but angry about this _Mand'alor_'s decision. If he recalled, ver'verd was Mandalorian for 'mercenary'. Given her background, the current _Mand'alor_ was probably only proving the _Kyr'tsad_ right in her eyes. And on some level, he had to agree. What man would sell out his own galaxy, have his entire people sell out the galaxy, for credits?

"In the end, only the worthy will be given the title of Mandalorian Protector. In the end, only the best will become _Or'ramikade._ So, train hard, train well, and trust in your fellow Mandalorians. When it comes down to it, only a Mandalorian can trust a Mandalorian in this twisted galaxy we live in. Tonight, get what sleep you can and prepare yourselves. Tomorrow, you shall begin your training and we will see if you have what it takes to truly live in this galaxy."

A Mandalorian in gold-colored armor stepped up next. "There are only a few rules here. One, you will always listen to a fully-armored Mando'ade like myself or one of the others. Two, as mentioned before, Mandalore is going to war against the New Republic shortly. So if we detect any transmissions, intercept any messages, or find out you are communicating with them in any way, you will be treated as an enemy combatant. Lastly, three, none of you are here because you want to make friends, but all of you are here because your clan leaders sensed the _mando'kar_ within each of you. Fight amongst yourselves if you have to, but murder of another initiate is murder of a Mandalorian, and the punishment for such an act is clear. Everything else goes, provided you are ready to face their clan's retaliation. We are all Mandalorian here, regardless of where we come from, so do your best to remember that in the coming months."

A Mandalorian in red took up the orientation next. "For those of you unaware of Mandalorian politics, the _Mand'alor_ has decided to allow several members of the splinter group _Kyr'tsad_ to train with their brothers and sisters here. Regardless of what your clan has or has not told you about them, you are to leave the _Kyr'tsad_ members alone. They are here by _Mand'alor_'s invitation, and to move against them is an insult to _Mand'alor_ and his honor. _Mand'alor_ has his reasons, and in these times, we need to trust in his judgment even if we don't see the wisdom to it at the moment."

Goran finished up the briefing by holding out his hands. "This place is your home for the next year. Train hard, prove your _mandokar_, and one day soon, I will consider you a brother or sister in arms and we will be fighting side by side. Oya, live hard and return to your clans victorious and honorable. Report to your instructors tomorrow morning and begin your first steps to becoming Mandalorian Protectors. That is all."

As the five Mandalorians began to circulate through the room, stopping at some groups and bypassing others, Doran slowly released a breath. It had taken a while, but now it was finally sinking in. Here he was, in a military training camp preparing for some danger he knew little about, training with people who were being paid to fight the New Republic. And he would be here for a year.

The apprehension and fear must have shown on his face, because he felt Tracyn nudge him. He looked down to see her smiling gently, blue eyes tender with understanding.

"_Ne'baat, _Doran. _Gar cuyi ne'solus…_ You're not alone."

"Not to sound ungrateful, but why are you doing this? Me interfering in Kote's thing was just the right thing to do, nothing special." Doran murmured, looking away and at the much older crowd around him. When she didn't respond, he looked back down at her.

Soft blue eyes earnestly bore into his watery brown and she reached up to gently brush the back of one of her hands against his right cheek. "We Mandos have another saying, Doran. Family is more than blood. Family is the company you keep, the company who defines the type of person you are, the people who'll have your back no matter what. I've only known you for a couple of hours, but I can already tell that you're a good person. So much better than some of the people here striving to be 'protectors' of the weak. I've got your back, Doran. Can I count on you to have mine?"

Doran breathed out a long, slow breath, his lips twitching as he fought back a nervous smile. "Yeah…yeah, I've got your back, Tracyn." He let out a weak laugh and rubbed at the back of his head sheepishly. "One thing is for sure, this is going to be one interesting year."

**FtF(Kyr Tuur Solus)FtF**

**A\N:** And now begins a five-chapter story arc that takes us through Doran's very adventure-full first week on Gargon. Next update…next week. Reviews are always helpful, what do you hope to see in this story =). As I said in my profile page, this is a modular story so though it's technically 'done' at five chapters, I'm leaving it open-ended so I can add additional story-arcs should the inspiration strike me.


	2. Forging Friendships

**Chapter 2: Forging Friendships**

**FtF(I)FtF**

With the briefing over, a small rush of people began to file out of the room. Not exactly wanting to be separated, Doran reflexively grabbed Tracyn's hand, and the two young teens moved with the flow of the crowd. It must have been a strange sight to the battle-harden and life-worn individuals around them. Once outside the room and clear of the mass of people, however, Doran realized what he had done and dropped Tracyn's hand in embarrassment. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay," Tracyn replied, some color in her cheeks as she bravely held his gaze. "I probably held on just as tightly. Being part Ewok means I have a greater chance to be trampled on after all."

"Right," Doran chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his head. "So…errr. What's next?"

"We could…ummm, do you have any hobbies or anything?" Tracyn said shyly. Now without the veil of 'duty,' 'forcing' her to accompany him, the young Mandalorian teen seemed just as uncertain as he was.

"Telling stories," Doran grimaced, realizing how un-cool that sounded. "I mean, I traveled around the galaxy with my mom a lot, and whenever I returned home I have this friend I share stories with. It's probably not your thing though. I guess if you're up to it, we could do something Mandalorian; like spar or something."

"Now you're speaking my language," Tracyn chirped in laughter.

"Well, lead the way. Mainly because I have absolutely no idea where to go next. The central fitness area is for the more experienced guys right?"

"Erm mhm." Tracyn nodded. "Don't worry, the rookies have their own place to train too. Follow me."

Doran did. Navigating through long, winding metal corridors, flights of steep stairs, and across the icy cold open-air walkways to another floating platform, the trek to get to the 'training' grounds was an exercise in itself. Fortunately or not, Doran didn't feel _too _out of breath when Tracyn finally pushed open a jury-rigged flimsiplast door to an abandoned hangar.

For many planets, six to seven hours after the noon hour meant that the sun was near the horizon and the sky was changing from day to night. The side of Gargon Doran was on, however, had eighteen hour days and almost six-hour nights. This meant that despite the late hour, daylight still shown through the open hangar in great abundance. Well-used sparring mats, weapon racks filled with practice weapons, and stands with protective padding littered the otherwise empty room.

"Going to have to get used to eating dinner with the sun still up," Doran remarked.

"Probably have to get used to a whole lot of things."

"Is this place always so empty?" Doran gestured to the completely vacant hangar.

"Most of the time," Tracyn confirmed. "_Manda'lor_ gave the _Kyr'tsad_ their own training room to avoid any conflicts with the rest of the _Mando'ade_. The cohort before my own had about two-dozen _Kyr'tsad_-related Mandos in it—actual members, family, friends, and the like—so they were given this otherwise unused hangar. Fortunately or not, I'm the only one in my cohort with _Kyr'tsad_ blood. I get this nice big chamber all to myself, and I don't really mind."

"Neat."

"I like to think so. So, what weapons do you want to spar with? Wait, do you have any idea what Jeban's going to put you through tomorrow?"

"Not really," Doran shook his head. "Only that I'm supposed to go through this _verd'goten_ in five days."

"_Verd'goten?_ You're younger than I thought you were then," Tracyn blushed again. "No worries, then we'll spar with knives. Proficiency in knife work is one of the requirements. You'll be required to hold your own against a fully trained Mando, at least long enough not to be embarrassed."

"Great."

"That and the hand-to-hand portion are really the only competitions. Everything else—blaster shooting, survival exercise, and the endurance section—is just you trying to do your best. The test is designed for those between the ages of thirteen to fifteen, so as long as you've been prepared for it, you'll have no trouble passing."

"Did you have to go through it?"

"Uh huh," Tracyn's head bobbed as she pulled several sparring knives from their holders. "Two years ago."

"Wow, you're older than you look," Doran parroted.

"Ewok genes," Tracyn said dryly in way of explanation. She flipped one of the training knives over to him, and then another. He caught both effortlessly, testing their weight and feel in his hands. The blade was straight-forward, fifteen centimeters, and attached to a durasteel handle wrapped in cloth. "You have some combat training already?"

"On Morellia. My mom took me there last year when I started sprouting."

"Morellia…" Tracyn's forehead furrowed and she made a face. "Errr…where is that?"

"Wild Space," Doran chuckled. "Don't worry. The planets my mom's taken me to probably haven't been heard of by most of this galaxy. She likes to skirt the Outer Rim in search of adventure and my next teachers."

"She sounds great," Tracyn said with a whimsical smile. "What did the Morellians have to teach you?"

"Basic combat training mostly. The Morellians are a dying species, only a handful of them left. One of them was this old soldier from their Morellian Enforcers, an elite unit. From him I learned how to fire a slug-thrower, use a sling, and some knife stuff. It really was sad, but at least mom managed to record a copy of their history before their species went completely extinct."

"Another long story huh?"

"Like I said," Doran shrugged sheepishly. "A hobby."

Tracyn skillfully twirled the two knives she had in her hands as if she had been doing it all her life, showing she wasn't exactly as harmless as she appeared to be. "These are shock-blades. They'll give you a small jolt, and probably a bruise, if you make contact. You'll be using real knives during your test though."

"Thanks for the warning."

Doran watched as Tracyn flipped one of her knives into a reverse grip, blade parallel to her forearm. Her other was held out in front of her like a serpent's tongue, testing the air. He swallowed nervously. Using a lightsaber meant that his other skills had grown a bit rusty. He supposed that he was fortunate that his first opponent was Tracyn instead of the stern-looking Dinua. Carefully, he held both his knives up, his grip making their blades point outwards to the left and right of him.

"Ready?" Tracyn asked, her calm countenance disappearing into a mask of concentration.

"Yup," Doran remarked. He knew better than to underestimate his opponent, but it was hard to get into the right mind-set when he towered over her and had much longer arms than her.

Tracyn was quick to correct his thinking. She sprinted towards him fearlessly in complete silence, blue eyes cold as ice. By the time he got his guard up, she was already within arm's reach. Their blades sparked several times, but she was so close it was hard for him to bend his long arms quickly enough to parry all of her attacks. He tried to back away, but she stayed with him step for step. Her blades jolted him once, twice, and then a third time, before the petite Mandalorian teen rolled out and away and sprang back up to her feet.

"Three to zero," Tracyn said with a smirk, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"You just caught me by surprise that time," Doran half-whined, trying to nurse his badly bruised forearm…and ego.

Tracyn shrugged and moved in again. Even though Doran was ready for her this time around, she somehow managed to float around his flurry of strikes and end up inside his guard again. He felt stinging jolts to the backs of his legs, and as he dropped to his knees, he felt his arms go numb from two more jolts. Tracyn whirled around one last time, and Doran squeezed his eyes shut for the next stinging blow. When none came, he slowly opened one eye, then the other, and saw both of Tracyn's knives resting on each of his shoulders.

"I win," Tracyn said, her blue eyes searching his gaze almost nervously. Doran held her gaze, seeing both fear and apprehension as Tracyn very slowly withdrew her blades. It was as if she was trying to tell him something. Once again he regretted being unable to speak 'girl-ese.'

The sound of the flimsiplast door to the room opening creaked loudly and broke the spell.

"Tracyn, what poor _or'dinii_ did you convince to face you with knives this time?" A voice asked jovially.

Tracyn looked over her shoulder, relaxing only when she saw who it was. "Jintar, what are you doing here?"

"Heard from Lok that you took on a new project. Came to see who he was." Doran saw the olive-skinned teen, black hair shaved down military style, make his way across the room. "And your latest training dummy has to be him. _Su'cuy_, don't feel bad about losing to her. She's the reigning knife champion in our age group. Even the ice-queen lost three straight sets to her."

"Ice-queen?" Doran repeated, getting back to his feet.

"Jintar!" Tracyn scolded sharply.

"I know, I know." Jintar held up his hands in surrender. The fact that he had given in looked rather funny considering he was nearly as tall as Doran, but twice as muscular as the scrawny just-turned-teen. "Dinua Jeban."

"This individual is called Jintar Skirata, from the Skirata clan," Tracyn jerked a finger at the other teen. "We're in the same training cohort. So is Jeban. Jintar, this baby-Wookie in human form is..."

"Doran, Doran Sarkin Tainer," he said on cue.

"Nice to meet you. If you're with Gedyc here, then we'll probably get along just fine. She and I do because everyone else thinks so little of us." Jintar then quickly added. "With Gedyc, given her size, that's probably easy to do."

"Ha, ha," Tracyn deadpanned.

"Anyway, Dinua would probably be with us to if she wasn't such a loner," Jintar continued. "She's about as unpopular as Gedyc and I put together. But we're not here to win any contests, so it doesn't really matter."

"What do they have against you?" Doran blinked. To him, Jintar looked like the typical Mandalorian, almost like Kote, but with darker skin and a less angular face.

"Well, my dad's one of a kind," Jintar began with a drawl. "Some people don't see it that way."

"And I thought Mando's didn't care about who your mom and dad are," Doran looked to Tracyn in confusion.

"Told you before, not everyone's born a Mando and had our way drilled into their heads since birth. Unlike yours, our cohort is overwhelmingly outsider-turned-Mando. It's almost like _Mand'alor_ is trying to fill up the ranks of the Protectors as fast as he can and didn't care who got in. Maybe it's because of the war with the New Republic. The quality of this next batch of Protectors, however, leaves much to be desired."

"Don't worry, _vod'ika_," Jintar chuckled without any humor, his face a silent mask of anger. "I can hold my own."

"Fun place I've ended up."

"That's the spirit." Jintar picked up one of the sparring daggers Tracyn had let fall to the floor. "Any reason why the _Kyr'tsadika_ was wiping the floor with your _shebs_?"

"Trying to tell me something I think," Doran said sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. Unlike Kote, Jintar's reference to Tracyn's background sounded like affectionate teasing.

"He has the _Verd'goten_ in five days," Tracyn elaborated, her voice soft. "Jeban's his instructor."

Jintar whistled. "Do we know who his tester will be?"

"Tester?"

"For the hand-to-hand and knife skills," Tracyn reminded gently. "You'll have to go up against someone who has already passed. Given your age he or she will probably be in our cohort."

"I'm hoping they won't be as good as you or Dinua," Doran said nervously.

"Probably not," Tracyn shrugged. "But on the off-chance you get the third-best fighter, Dinua will probably do everything she can to keep you from embarrassing yourself…and her. You'll be reflecting her ability to train future Mandalorians after all."

"Right," Doran stretched his tall frame out on the sparring mat, staring up at the dingy metal ceiling of the hangar.

"She'll get you through, Doran," Jintar said lightly. "If there's one thing I know about Jeban, is that she never backs down from a challenge. I don't know who your parents are to have gotten an outsider kid like you into this place, and I don't care. But they've trusted us Mandalorians to train you, to make you tough enough to survive all the _osik_ out there in the great and scary galaxy. And that's what we're going to do."

"I don't know. If looks could kill, I would have crash and burned half a dozen different ways after our first meeting," Doran said listlessly, not for the first time wondering if his mom had made a mistake. "And that's being optimistic."

"She's like that with everyone," Jintar tried. "I would have been worried if she suddenly took to you and the two of you became _ori'burc'ya_. You get the whole orientation about not being here to make friends, right?"

"Loud and clear."

"Let me give you a small tip. Ignore you were raised up in a proper Mandalorian clan, you'll have learned this, so let me even the playing field a bit. A true Mandalorian is more than just _beskaar'gam_ and _tracy'uur_. A true Mandalorian goes into battle not alone, but with others at his or her side. Those here only to prove that they can shoot a blaster, blow things up, and be bad-asses, aren't going to make it into the Protectors. Those who know how to honor the core value of what it is to be a Mando, will."

"Great," Doran glanced to the older male. "What would that be?"

"Family," Tracyn answered in Jintar's stead. She sat down on the mat next to Jintar, smiling kindly at Doran. "You're not here to find friends, true. You're here to find a family. The brothers and sisters who will be willing to shed their blood for you and vice versa. The ones who will have your back and fight for what you believe in because you'll do the same for them."

"Look at the pint-size, Jeban, and myself," Jintar said offering Doran a hand, and then pulling the younger teen to his feet. "And you for that matter. We may be outcasts, but we have people we can count on when the times get tough. That's a lot better than many of the others in this place."

"You're including Dinua into this?" Doran said in surprise. "I thought you said that…"

"Rule Number Two for being a proper Mando," Jintar said quickly. "Never cut off a potential ally just because they aren't all buddy-buddy with you in the present. Just because Dinua isn't a friend now doesn't mean she won't be in the future. _Mand'alor_ is doing the same thing with the _Vongese_. We cut the _Vongese_ off and all _Manda'yaim_ will be is an enemy to be attacked. We offer one hand in friendship, and both the _Vongese_ and _Mand'alor_ can keep our options open. At least that's what my grandfather explained to me."

"Sounds like a wise man."

"Kal Skirata's practically a Mando legend," Jintar said with a proud nod. "He, my father, and my uncles all fought in the Clone Wars. Fought alongside _Jetii_ and survived all the chaos that followed."

"Wow," Doran breathed, eyes wide. He had heard stories, met survivors, but for some reason this felt different. He almost spilled about his own parents, but caught himself just in time. "Compared to you two, my parents don't seem all that exciting."

"Everyone can't be heroes," Jintar patted Doran's back with mock sympathy. "Besides, in the long run, it doesn't matter. The type of people your parents are is reflected in your actions. It's up to you to carve out your own identity and pass that to your own kids."

"So…" Doran hefted the training knife he was still holding. "You two mind helping me brush up on my knife and hand-to-hand skills? I want to at least have something to be proud of when Dinua beats me to a pulp tomorrow."

"We can definitely do that," Jintar said. "Any friend of Gedyc is a friend of mine. Coming from a large family back home, it was getting kind of weird with only her, no offense, Gedyc."

"None taken," sky-blue eyes rolled mirthfully. "Look at it from my point of view. A dozen _Kyr'tsad_ on this base and I hung out with you for the past two months. They were starting to talk."

"Errr…can I ask why?" Doran said hesitantly. His lack of knowledge in Mando-politics made him scared of alienating his new friends. "I would have thought you guys would all stick together."

"Not like it's a big secret. The _Kyr'tsad _is kind of locked up in an ideological-power struggle right now," Tracyn sighed. "On top of killing regular Mandos, they're now killing each other off. We're about five-thousand strong, but in so many pieces it's not even funny. The biggest faction belongs to 'Lady' Verda Vizsla, the granddaughter of the _Kyr'tsad_ founder."

"I take it you're not part of that faction?"

"Nope," Tracyn grumbled, her normally friendly expression turning into a scowl. "On top of that woman being only a couple years older than me, she has her hands full keeping all of her own people in line. I wouldn't be surprised if she sent a bunch of them off on a suicide mission in hopes of ridding herself of all the troublemakers. No. I told you before, my own grandfather was the _Kyr'tsad_ Overlord, Lorka Gedyc. Well, a bunch of his followers see me as the rightful leader of the _Kyr'tsad _and splintered off from Verda's group. I have about a thousand of them wishing me success, making the Gedyc faction the second largest group. Then we have a tie between followers of Viba's unit, he was the Overlord after Gedyc, the one my parents died following, and a myriad of others who think nonconformity is a smart thing to do."

"So you're basically a Mandalorian princess or something."

"Not funny," Tracyn glowered. "I don't _want_ them following me.I _don't_ want to give them orders to or to lead the _Kyr'tsad_ to a new era. And I certainly don't want to wage war on anyone. I do it because otherwise my parents' deaths will have meant absolutely nothing. That's what separates me from Verda. She still thinks the _Kyr'tsad_ has to blast its way into Mando politics and become the dominant force on _Manda'yaim._ I just want _Kyr'tsad_ to stop the stupid struggle, I mean, blowing up gas stations and public buildings is completely pointless. If we truly want change, if the rest of the _Mando'ade_ are finally tired of the mercenary life, then we need to start getting our people elected into office and stop hiding under rocks and forest bunkers and wherever else we've dug ourselves into."

"You got my vote," Jintar said glibly.

"Shush," Tracyn glared. "Just for that Wookie Number Two, you get to be my test dummy. You can show Doran what _not _to do in a knife-fight."

Jintar blinked wildly. "Can I please take back my previous statement spoken during a lapse in judgment?"

"A Skirata backing out of a challenge?" Tracyn raised her eyebrow.

"Just don't cut off anything important," Jintar pleaded. He took the practice knives from Doran's hand. "The things you'll do for family. Please pay attention, it's not every day I volunteer to have my shebs kicked from one side of the room to the other."

Doran took a seat on the mat and watched the two older teens enter into a fierce fight. Despite Jintar's words, the teen had some definite skill with the knives as he matched Tracyn step for step. Throughout the fight, Tracyn would call out things Doran should notice—feet position, angle of the arms, distractedness of Jintar—and then promptly up her speed. Eventually, Jintar's larger form couldn't keep up with the lightning fast knife slashes of his pint-sized attacker. Panting and covered in sweat, Jintar stepped out of the ring, shaking his head mournfully. The gleam in Tracyn's eyes disappeared, and she suddenly looked like a shy, modest girl once more.

This time, in light of everything he had learned about her, Doran understood the previous message. Though she appreciated it, she didn't need him fighting her fights. She was more than capable of looking out for herself.

"So….yeah. It took a little longer because I was trying to imitate Dinua's fighting style, but her arms are longer than my own and she's a little bit taller too," Tracyn wet her lips. "If you're feeling up to it, we can try to spar again. I'll match your skill level and we can go from there."

"Sure," Doran stood again. "How'd you get so good with the knives?"

"A _Kyr'tsad_ veteran, Bo-Katan," Tracyn said, assuming a fighting pose. "She was kind of another faction all on her own, but designated both Verda and myself true inheritors of the _Kyr'tsad_ tradition. Before she went on the long march, she gave Verde her helmet, and I received her shoulder plates and gauntlets. Both Verde and I haven't earned the right to wear them yet, so they're in storage at the moment. Anyway, it was Bo-Katan's passing that made me seek out the current _Mand'alor_ and ask to join this academy. Bo-Katan pretty much taught me all the combat skills I know. It's strange, because if rumors are true, she also taught Verde, but only about matters of politics. You'd think, given our stated stances, she would have done the opposite. Now, enough talk. Let's see what you can do."

**FtF(II)FtF**

Doran had never been to an official school before. The only 'class' he had actually attended had been when he was only six, seven years old, and that had been under the kind and caring guidance of Tionne Solusar back on the comforting planet of Yavin Four. For some reason, Doran had a very strong feeling Dinua wouldn't give him play time or praise him and rub his head if he managed to lift a rock with the Force.

Feeling like a kid going to his first _real_ school ever, Doran exhaled shakily in front of a nondescript durasteel door. Though the night had been fairly short when compared to the extra long days, he had barely been able to sleep. So much was going through his mind, chief among them was how he was going to survive even the first day. Shifting nervously, he raised a hand to knock on the door, lowered his hand anxiously before it could touch the metal surface, then raised it again as he forced himself to act. He knocked twice, heart hammering in his chest.

The door creaked open, rusted hinges protesting. A pair of deadened brown eyes with a lean angular face framed by long black hair regarded him with indifference.

"You actually came, and you're early, _dar'manda_."

"First day of school and all that," Doran said faintly. "Wanted to make a good impression."

"_Jate_," Dinua stepped out into the hallway clad in a set of sweatpants and tank-top. Weighted bands were wrapped around her wrist and ankles, and she took a moment to tie her hair back into a loose ponytail. "We'll be working on your stamina today, to see how soft your Jedi ways have made you."

"Should I call you Instructor Jeban, or Dinua, or something else?" Doran asked glibly, their footsteps echoing loudly as they fast-walked through the metal corridor.

Dinua glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, probably wondering if he was being serious or not. "Dinua is fine, _dar'manda._

"There's that word again. Are you going to tell me what it means?"

"Earn the right to be called something other than that, and I might," Dinua kept up her veil of indifference. "Tell me, _ad._ What does it mean to be a Jedi, to you? What happens if a Jedi loses their ability to use your Force, will they still be a Jedi?"

"Probably not," Doran scratched the back of his head, confused by the direction of the conversation. "If all my teachers are to be believed, a Jedi serves the Force, uses it to better the lives of those around them. Without the Force…well, they just couldn't be Jedi, I guess."

"Think on that, then," Dinua said coolly. "Think about your position. You are currently a Jedi without the Force, what does that make you? Don't answer, just think on it."

Doran opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, realizing he had no answer. Growing up with his super-Jedi mom, meeting and being trained by Jedi of different eras, spending his youth hunting down lost holocrons and recording oral tradition about Force-sensitive cultures, his entire life orbited the 'Jedi' way of doing things. But now that he was in this Mandalorian training camp, capable of using the Force but choosing not to, was he still being Jedi? Was it fair to the billions of other thirteen year old kids out there that he was getting lesson on how to survive from the best there was and they weren't? Was it a Jedi thing to do to better one's self at the expense of those around him? He recalled the many other children his age he had met on his adventures growing up. Would they survive whatever 'terror' his mom and dad obviously felt was coming?

Lost in his thoughts, he absently followed Dinua to one of the turbolifts. The ride down to the surface was silent, Dinua keeping her back to him the entire trip.

When they stepped out into the gravel and sand world of Gargon's mining pits, Dinua spoke once more, her back still to him. "Today I'll be testing your endurance. No using your Force to keep you going. You either have what it takes to do this, or you don't. Plain and simple."

"Got it," Doran nodded once.

"Then follow me," Dinua inclined her head briefly and started off in a light jog. "If you are to learn how to become a _Mando'ade_, you must understand the core of who we are. All true _Mando'ade _obey _Mand'alor _and raise our children in service to the current _Mand'alor_. Our language, our armor, the welfare of our clan, they are what has kept the _Mando'ade_ united for many millennia. We survived the fall of Jedi and Sith, survived the Republic and wars long past. Why? Because it is no small task to be considered among our ranks. You either succeed or die, but you do so in the name of _Mand'alor_ and for the sake of _Manda'yaim_. We survived all this time by honoring our friends and family in a way no one else in the galaxy does. No matter what happens, no matter how the rest of the galaxy views us, so long as one carries the name of _Mando'ade_ in his or her heart, the _Mando'ade _will live on."

"I didn't exactly come here to be a Mandalorian though," Doran spoke up. "I just want to learn how to survive the war Beviin was talking about."

"And you are not listening," Dinua hissed, glancing over her shoulder in annoyance. "To survive is to be Mandalorian. Only by having others watching your back will you have any hope of making it in this abysmal galaxy we live in."

"So who watches your back?" Doran raised an eyebrow, slightly winded as he ascended a metal catwalk up a very steep mound of rock.

"I don't need anyone," Dinua said immediately. "The one person I trusted…I can look after myself."

"I never said you couldn't. But you're telling me that I'll be blaster-bait without someone looking out for me. What does that make you?"

Dinua whirled around and gripped the collar of Doran's shirt, pushing him back up against the railing. Her brown eyes were almost like dark pits as she glared at him. "_I_ am a true _Mando'ade_, will become _Or'ramikade_ like my mother. The day I will allow a piece of _dar'manda_ trash like you to judge me is the day I will take my own life in shame."

"You didn't answer my questions," Doran said unyieldingly.

Dinua's jaw clenched, a hint of emotion flashing across her face as she released him and gave him a small shove. "I told you, _dar'manda_. In this galaxy, only a _Mando'ade_ watches the back of another _Mando'ade_. I have hundreds of brothers and sisters here. I _know_ who I am and where I will fit into this galaxy. Can you say the same?"

Doran raised an eyebrow, but didn't press the issue. The last thing he needed was to make his already angry instructor any more furious with him than she already was. With his silence, Dinua turned around and resumed their jog, but at a noticeably faster pace.

The blue sky was growing lighter as the morning progressed, but the cored-out remains of the planet's moon could still be seen in the sky. The wind was brisk and cool, cold enough that Doran knew his hands would have gone numb if he hadn't been running. The rocky soil proved challenging to run in, and more than once did he catch himself lest he roll his ankle stepping in an unstable patch of land. But in a way, Doran found the run almost peaceful. He could feel his mind empty of all the worries and fears as he just focused on the path ahead of him. The only sounds he could hear were that of his own breathing and the occasional mechanical whirring from somewhere in the mining pits all around.

He lost track of the time, but only realized this when he saw Dinua stop ahead of him.

"You're in pretty good shape," Dinua broke the silence, sounding surprised. "Would have thought a _dikut_ like you would have been more winded by now, or complained the entire way."

Doran just smiled faintly, his breath coming out in light pants. The sun was noticeably higher in the sky. "Thanks, I think."

"The area we're heading into is controlled by a local gang. They normally leave us Mandalorians alone, but they occasionally recruit someone with a _solus mirsh_."

"Huh?"

"Like you," Dinua clarified unhelpfully. "If we do run into any of them _dar'manda_, just let me do the talking and the _sheb_-kicking. Last thing I want is for you to be postponing your _Verd'goten_ because you sprained your wrist punching a guy in the face."

Doran just blinked and nodded sagely. "So…why are we going through this gang-controlled place?"

"Given the limited choice here, your _Verd'goten_ is going to place you against someone probably older and way more skilled than you. I don't want word getting around about how you fight and how you think. You're already at a big enough disadvantage as it is."

"Oh…thank you," Doran meant it this time.

"See if you're still thanking me when we're done here," Dinua showed the faintest of emotion via a predatory smirk.

They walked passed a stack of fist-sized metal containers with a skull etched into the uppermost container.

"That's original," Doran commented glibly.

"My mother set this guy up here after she tore apart the organization he was a part of," Dinua said evenly. "Given that the organization was one of your run-of-the-mill pirate groups, originality wasn't exactly high on their list of priorities."

"So she spared him?"

"Even defeated enemies can be of use," Dinua shrugged. "He was the last one left, so he had all of his group's contacts and resources. He knew what would happen if he crossed mom again, so decided to go the safe route and work for her."

The area they walked into was an abandoned circular mining pit, with rusted mining equipment spread out haphazardly. Tables and chairs, a small stage, a lighting system, and various other amenities were set up in the middle.

"Jeban!" A blue-skinned Toydarian called out jovially from a table surrounded by scrupulous looking people. "This is a nice surprise. Haven't heard from you or your mother in a while."

"Can it, Quito," Dinua said dryly.

"Hey! You can't talk to the boss like that!" A member of Quito's group tried to stand as Dinua and Doran passed his chair. Dinua, however, delivered a quick chop to the back of the man's head, and he slumped back down into his chair.

"Quito, what did my mom say about hiring idiots?"

"You see it as idiocy, Jeban. I see it as loyalty," the Toydarian chuckled. "So, what can I do for you? Is your mother well?"

"She's dead," Dinua said flatly. Doran looked at her, startled, but didn't say anything. Dinua continued on as if the fact her mother was dead didn't mean anything to her. "So you work for me now."

"You?"

"Do we have a problem?" Dinua folded her arms in front of her and arched an eyebrow.

"No, no problem."

"Excellent," Dinua's voice remained as emotionless as ever.

"So, what can I do for ya? Need a new gun? A grenade? I just got several cases in from…"

"Quito." Dinua arched an eyebrow and the Toydarian fell silent. "You see this kid with me? I need to train him up to Mando standards. Your people are going to help me."

"And…just how would we benefit?" The winged gun-runner asked. "The debts I owed were to your mother, not you. Not like you can go jetting about burning out my competition at the moment."

"Intel," Dinua replied.

"This had better be _very_ good intel."

"A war is coming, Quito. A big one. I'm sure an entrepreneur such as yourself can understand what that means."

The credits were practically shining in the Toydarian's eyes. "Do tell."

"Help me train the boy first."

"How do I know your intel will be any good?"

"Are you questioning my honor as a Mandalorian?" The already cold morning air seemed to drop several degrees.

Fortunately, Quito wasn't as simple-minded as he appeared. "Not questioning that. Merely, what if I already had the information you were about to tell me."

"Fine," Dinua pulled out a datapad from the back of her utility belt. "Here's a small list of worlds that will probably need arms really soon. They're rich enough that they can even afford your prices, but small enough that your arms will probably make little difference when the war comes. I have more once we're done here."

Quito looked over the short list humming to himself as he nodded or scowled at each entry. Finally he glanced back towards Doran and floated his way over to the younger teen. "So, she wants me to help make you like a Mandalorian huh?"

"Apparently," Doran quipped.

Quito looked back over to the dark-haired Mandalorian teen. "High praise Jeban."

"I'm trusting in the fact that you've hired at least a couple of competent people in your time here."

"Of course. Even picked up a few of your academy's cast-offs too," Quito cackled at that, gesturing to a table were several military-looking individuals were seated. With a conspiratory look to Doran, he mock-whispered. "Didn't quite make the cut and didn't want to return to their clans in disgrace, so I did what any nice person would do and gave them a home. 'Course they're really useful when I want a few heads knocked together."

Dinua cleared her throat. "You mean my mother convinced you to take them in after directing them towards you."

Looking slightly abashed, Quito rubbed the back of his head. "Well, yeah. But you didn't hafta tell the boy that."

Addressing Doran, Dinua jerked her head towards a table of four Mandalorians. "They've passed the _Verd'goten _and know what to expect. Despite being washouts, they're more Mandalorian than some of the people back at the academy." Dinua turned towards the table with the wash-out Mandalorians. "_Vode,_ you four mind giving me a hand training this _dikut_?"

The four exchanged a silent conversation, then shrugged and got up from their chairs. One of them, a scarred Duros, looked skeptically at Doran. "You sure you want to waste time on him? A _Verd'goten_ on this planet isn't exactly a walk in a battlefield."

"Yes or no, _vod_?" Dinua repeated impatiently.

"We'll do it," a human with a bleach-blond Mohawk said mildly. "Just surprised you brought him here to us."

"My mother saw that you were good Mandalorians," Dinua answered. "Even if you're not part of the Protectors, you still carry the _Resol'nare_ in your hearts. And that's who I want training this _dar'manda_ here, _real_ Mandalorians."

"The kid's a _dar'manda_ but you still want him trained." An older human male with graying black hair said with clear amusement. "Interesting."

"He was a _dar'manda_ from birth," Dinua returned. "It's my job to make sure he grows out of it."

"Some job. Glad I washed out," the fourth member of the group, a yellow Twi'lek female, chortled. "Sure we'll help you out, Jeban. If only because it will pass the time. Quito's running out of competition in this system, and his cargo ship isn't exactly designed for pirate raids."

"I'm saving up for a few fighters and a light-frigate," Quito protested. "You lot keep eating up all my profits. Why do you Mandos have to have such a hearty appetite?"

"We need to maintain the muscles that we use to beat up the guys that give you the money that feeds us," Mohawk-Mandalorian answered.

"Bah," Quito waved a hand. "Just send my muscle back to me when you're done with them Jeban. They want some heads to crack, so I'll go scrounge up a few deadbeats who owe me some credits."

In the meantime, Doran swallowed nervously under the evaluating stares of the battle-hardened warriors around him. Just great. He was _so_ going to enjoy this.

**FtF(III)FtF**

"Look, he lives." Doran came to to the sound of Jintar's military-influenced tone of voice. The comforting warmth of his bunk, however, lured his consciousness back to the restful void it was leaving.

"Jeban really must have done a number on him, look at some of these bruises," the quiet tones of the _Kyr'tsad_ heiress, Tracyn Gedyc, registered next. "Get me the med-kit, Jintar."

"I don't know, _Kyr'tsadika_. He_ is_ Jeban's charge. We're not supposed to intervene in her training methods."

"This isn't a method!" Tracyn hissed back. "_Haar'chak_, this burn is from a plasma torch!"

"Maybe the kid did something to tick Dinua off? He did seem to be a bit heavy on wit but not on brains."

"Still…"

Doran weakly opened his eyes to see Tracyn wiping one of his burns with a bacta swab and then gingerly dressing the wound. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Tracyn replied, concern filled her eyes. "You okay, Baby Wookie Number One?"

"Exhausted," Doran said hoarsely, closing his eyes with another groan. "Hungry too, a little thirsty."

"You look like you went a few rounds against a Wookie, and lost," Jintar shook his head in disbelief.

"Almost, just volunteered to be a training dummy for ex-communicated Mandos," Doran rasped. "Do you think Jeban will mind if I use the Force right now to stop my muscles from being so sore?"

In the silence that followed, Doran managed to swim out of the exhaustion-filled haze that clouded his mind to realize what he had just said. He opened his eyes again. Jintar was eyeing him with amusement, but Tracyn almost looked disappointed.

"You're Jedi?" Jintar said with disbelief.

"Errr….no?" Still sore, aching, and tired, Doran hastily tried to salvage the situation. But evidently he was a worse liar than he thought.

"I'll let you take care of him, I…I have somewhere I have to be," Tracyn stood and left the room in a rush.

Silence followed, so Doran cast a desperate look at the lone Mandalorian in the room. "Jintar?"

The olive-skinned Mandalorian grimaced, rubbing the back of his head with a hand. "_Kyr'tsad_ and Jedi aren't exactly the best of friends. _Kyr'tsad_ advocates for a return of the Mandalorian Empire and an end to the mercenary work most Mandos do today. One of the main reasons the last Mando-Empire fell was because of Jedi. And to _Kyr'tsad_, Jedi are the worst form of life out there. At least fellow Mandos can be converted, but in their eyes Jedi are responsible for the downfall of the glorious Mando tradition. Gedyc is still _Kyr'tsad_ at heart, so you can see what that means."

"Oh," Doran said, his heart sinking. Never did he think that he would feel bad about being a Jedi, but suddenly losing his new friend had his emotions off-balance.

"She'll come around," Jintar said reassuringly. "Just give her some time."

"You sure?"

"You'll still have Jeban and I watching your back," Jintar answered, the doubt in his eyes telling Doran all he needed to know.

"Great," Doran closed his eyes.

There was a knock on the metal door to the quarters, and both teens looked up.

"Jeban," Jintar said coolly.

"Skirata," Dinua returned emotionlessly, raising a single eyebrow. "This _dikut_ open his mouth about being _Jetii _again? I saw Gedyc running from his room angrier than I've ever seen."

"You knew?"

"Like I said, subtle isn't exactly a word I would use to describe this _dar'manda_."

"_Dar'manda_? You're not being a little harsh? He's only thirteen."

"_Ogir'olar. _A blasterbolt or _Vongese_-staff won't care," Dinua returned. "You go into battle without knowing who you are and you're as good as dead."

"Still, give him a chance."

"I haven't drummed him out yet have I?"

"The day's still young."

"Hey! I'm right here!" Doran interjected.

"So you are, _dar'manda._ You can leave now, Skirata. He's my student."

"_Udesii_, Jeban. He's like hell warmed over at the moment."

"Definitely feel like that," Doran chirped, slightly miffed at how they were having a conversation about him while he was in his cot.

"You, leave," Dinua pointed a finger at Jintar. She then looked over her shoulder almost lazily at Doran. "And you, _ka'tini._ If you think this is bad now, you better have another think coming. We're only just begun making you a Mando. Or do you want to give up now?"

Doran clenched his jaw and shook his head. "I can continue."

Dinua looked back to Jintar. "See, the _ad_ can go on. Let me teach him. Go and comfort that _Kyr'tsadika_ you hang out with."

Unlike Jintar, scorn and derision filled Dinua's voice at Tracyn's nickname.

"Her name is Tracyn," Doran interjected.

"She's Death Watch osik, stinks like it too, _dar'manda_," Dinua retorted, showing more emotion than Doran could remember seeing. "My mother made a living of putting a round in the helmet of any _Kyr'tsad_ she found. I am not going to dishonor her memory by making friends with one. She's probably here to learn how we think so she can stab us in the back later."

"You're something else, Jeban," Jintar shook his head in disgust. "Hang in there, Doran. It's been nice having you around. Hope you last."

"Thanks," Doran waved weakly.

Jintar left the room, leaving Dinua and Doran by themselves.

"So, how'd I do?" Doran tried lightly.

"Adequate," Dinua remarked. She reached into the pack she had brought with her and pulled out a medkit of her own. "Do the burns bother you?"

"I've had worse," Doran shook his head.

"Good, then you'll have a reminder to block the next time," Dinua unwrapped several bacta bandages and began applying it to his bruised forearms and legs.

"Didn't peg you for a medic," Doran remarked. He sighed as the bacta began to sap away the soreness.

"Didn't expect you to last so long. Everyone's full of surprises."

"True."

"Pay attention to how I apply the dressing. Mandalorians developed a technique that shaves off an hour or two from standard New Republic methods," Dinua ordered.

Doran pulled himself to a seated position and watched Dinua work. She squeezed one of his patches until bacta dripped out, then used the patch to rub it into his skin. A crisscross method with the strips, and soon his right leg matched his left leg in appearance.

"You've fought fights to the death before," Dinua spoke again, eyes darting to his, as if she was re-evaluating for. "I saw it in the way you faced down those four in Quito's camp."

"They weren't by choice."

"Mother told me those fights should never be by choice," Dinua nodded. She finished tapping up his bloodied knuckles. "You did well in Quito's place. The Mando there were impressed with you."

Doran, suspicious about her sudden kindness, tilted his head. "Okay, what gives? Why are you being nice all the sudden?"

"Don't mistake this for kindness," Dinua shot back dryly. Perhaps Doran should have waited to ask his question _after_ she had cinched up his bandage, because her next pull was a bit harder than the previous ones. "There's still another eight hours of daylight left, more time to train. The faster you heal up, the faster we can return to the lessons. The faster you get those lessons, the better shape you'll be in for the _Verd'goten_."

"Alright, enough. Am I your student or a stepping stone for you to become the Supercommando?" Doran asked firmly. "Because you can't go back and forth between the two. Either I'm a stepping stone, which means you'll train me to the bare minimum needed so I can pass whatever tests your instructors have in mind. Or I'm your student, and you'll actually teach me how to survive. You keep treating me like this and I'm not going to be in any condition to even take the _verd'goten_."

At that, Dinua rewarded him with a surprising smile. "Very good, _dar'manda_. The last _dikut_ I trained wouldn't admit that he had reached his limits and nearly got himself killed because of it."

"So this was a test?"

"_Dar'manda_, what makes you think the test is over?" Dinua stood and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Get some food. In two hours meet me in the sparring room you, Jintar, and Gedyc used yesterday. Let's see what those two taught you."

"About those two," Doran spoke up, stopping Dinua as she turned to leave. "Can you…I don't know, be civil with them at least. They're the only friends…family…I have here."

"Jintar maybe, but after your little slip of the tongue, don't count Gedyc as having your back," Dinua remarked without answering his question. "Remember, _dikut_, two hours. Try not to tell anyone else you're a Jedi in that time, will you?"

Without agreeing to anything, she left the room, leaving Doran alone in his thoughts.

**FtF(IV)FtF**

Despite his body protesting his every movement from Dinua's afternoon lessons aimed at putting muscle on his lanky form, Doran was on a mission. He had precious few friends on a station full of hardened soldiers, criminals, and all manner of tough-guys. Despite his size, Doran would be the first to admit that he was far from tough, and with his promise not to use the Force he was feeling more than a little vulnerable. Which is why he wasn't about to lose one of his friends thanks to something far beyond his control. He didn't choose to be a Jedi any more than Tracyn had chosen to be Death Watch.

Clad in a tank-top and sweat-pants, Doran braved the rapidly cooling outside air in his search for her. He contemplated using the Force to help him, but his mother and father had taught him that in a galaxy full of chaos, his word had to mean something to himself. He would find Tracyn, even if it took him the rest of the dying sunlight. Doran ran through a list of things he knew about her.

Fact one, she was a _Kyr'tsad_ heiress, meaning she was pretty much scum in the eyes of all the other Mandalorians, especially Kote and his clan. So she wouldn't be anywhere out in the open or anywhere 'sociable'.

Fact two, she was a kick-ass _Kyr'tsad_ heiress, the reigning knife-fighting champion. Who, despite her impressive ability to throw Jintar around, barely came up to his chest. This meant she could hide in all sorts of small places and beat up anyone who _did_ find her.

Fact three, there were other _Kyr'tsad_ on the station. If she hadn't told him she despised her position as heiress, he would have guessed that she had gone to one of them to help. Despite all the big talk about Mandalorians watching each other's back, she was almost as alone as he was on the station.

And there was fact number four. Dinua was positively against him making amends with her. There was apparently some history between the two Mandalorian girls that he wasn't privy too, and after Jintar had made himself scarce, Doran had little clue as to what that history was.

After searching all of the obvious places, combing through the not so obvious places, and avoiding Kote's gang more than once, Doran had an epiphany. With that bright idea in mind, he had dragged himself back to the hangar bay he had left a couple hours earlier, and began to climb.

The thirteen year old let out a groan as he reached up and grabbed a handhold, using the last of his strength to pull himself onto the hangar-bay rooftop. The wind whipped by him, chilling him, but for once, it didn't bother him.

He grinned weakly in victory, spying Tracyn sitting on the opposite side of the roof with her legs tucked under her. Her blond hair whipped about, but she was stalk still, gazing out at the desolate landscape around them.

"Sucuy," Doran greeted, yelling slightly so he could be heard over the wind.

Startled, Tracyn whirled around. Her expression tightened slightly upon seeing him, and she turned back to her silent ponderings.

Heartened by the fact that she hadn't told him to leave, Doran hesitantly sat down next to her. "Tracyn."

"What do you want?" Tracyn whispered, sounded defeated.

"To be friends," Doran answered simply.

"It's not that easy. Besides, you don't need me. You have Ms. Future-Or'ramikade watching over you and Skirata to back you up."

"Tra…"

"Look, I made a mistake coming here," Tracyn cut him off, staring him down with piercing blue eyes. "I thought I could understand the rest of the Mandalorians if I lived and trained by them, but I was wrong. I don't fit here. The _Kyr'tsad_ way doesn't fit here. You heard the commander the other night, the Mandos have sunk so low, they're selling out their galaxy. You can't get any more mercenary than that. And now they're even letting Jedi join up…"

"Well sorry for being born your natural enemy," Doran deadpanned. "I'll go tell my mom to hold the Jedi genes next time she decides to conceive me."

Tracyn snorted and looked away from him. "You do that."

"Look, Tracyn. I can't help being a Jedi, I was never given a choice. If it's worth anything to you, I haven't used the Force since coming here. Not on purpose anyways. Besides, Dinua promised to slit my throat if I did."

"That sounds like her," Tracyn replied, lowering her head. "If there's one thing the two of us have in common is that we both hate Jedi."

"I get that we've ruined the Mando Empires of the past, but what about her?"

"Not my story to tell."

"Not even a hint?"

"She tell you about her mom?"

"I only know that she's dead."

"A Jedi was involved."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Tracyn picked at the sleeve of her threadbare robe. "Doran I…I'm sorry. I know you've never done anything to me personally. You've been a better friend to me than some of the_ Kyr'tsad_ on the station. But..."

"You're giving up?" Doran switched tracks, having learned more than a few things watching his super mom in action. "You're going to let the likes of Kote and Dinua crow about how right they were? That the Mandalorian Empire you dream about is a stupid, little girl's dream?"

Doran really should have expected it, but the slap across his face still stung like the biting wind. It was that added sting that made him realize just how cold it was outside. And the sun was still setting.

"Ouch. Look, Tracyn. I understand things are tough, but look it at from my point of view. You at least share a tradition with all the crazies on this station. If you leave, you have a thousand or so adoring followers ready to die for you. Me? I have absolutely nothing but my brutish Wookie size and mouth that doesn't know when to shut up. You're the first friend I met on this station and the reason why yesterday didn't become too much for me. If I go home now, I'll probably one of billions who'll die in this upcoming war, and I'll die because I was cut out to learn the Mando tricks of the trade. I…"

"Okay, fine," Tracyn sighed, looking at Doran tiredly. "Fine, I'll stay, _dikut_."

"What are you, Dinua now?"

"I came here with an open mind, so I guess it's not much of a stretch to help my people's mortal enemy get stronger."

"That's the spirit, now can we go inside, I'm freezing."

"_Ka'tini_."

"Now I swear you're channeling Dinua."

"I heard your sparring lesson," Tracyn smiled faintly and gestured to the exhaust vent next to her as she got to her feet. "Sounds like she didn't kick your shebs as bad as she thought she would."

"Your tips definitely helped, thanks."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Not sure how much you want to hear about my Jedi-ness. But back on Yavin Four there's this series of temples used by the Order to train the kids. I have this friend back there, she's a Melodie."

"Never heard of them."

"Fish people from Yavin Eight. It's complicated."

"I'm sure."

"Anyways, she and I have this place high on one of the temples. We would just sit down and share stories. We get to be alone and we have a nice view of the planet at the same time."

"So," Tracyn developed an impish smile. "This girl…she your girlfriend?"

"What? No, no way. I mean, she's two years younger than me, just a little kid," Doran stammered quickly. "Besides, I've only seen her a couple of times. Mostly when my mom takes me back to the academy for a supply run."

"Just teasing you, _ad_. You know, for a human-sized baby-Wookie, you're really soft."

"Thanks?"

"You're welcome."

They descended back down into the hangar, drawn up short by the sight of Dinua waiting for them with a pair of food trays.

"Gedyc," Dinua raised a raven-haired eyebrow at the other teen.

"Jeban," Tracyn replied with the same tone.

"Decided to leave?"

"Nope, staying."

"My _dikut_'s fault?"

"Definitely."

"I'll make sure to put in extra reps for him tomorrow."

"Jeban."

"Yes?"

"Make sure the kid passes the _Verd'goten._"

"Just who do you think you're talking to?" Dinua said challengingly.

"Just making sure," Tracyn said airily. "See you around, _dar'manda_."

"What? Not you too!"

"_Ka'tini_," Dinua and Tracyn said at the same time. They blinked at each other, startled.

Tracyn smiled hesitantly at a stoic Dinua. "I'll leave you to your student, Jeban."

"Do so, he doesn't need any further distractions at this time."

"Says the Number Two knife-fighter," Tracyn said with just a touch of gloating as she strode by Dinua.

The expression on Dinua's face darkened, and Doran could only groan. "I don't suppose one of those meal trays is for me?"

"Here," Dinua roughly shoved the tray at him. "Next time don't miss dinner. You need the nutrients if you want to be at your peak physical form. More so since you're at the age where muscle-building begins to come easier."

"Thanks." Doran took a seat on one of the sparring mats and opened the container. A utilitarian cafeteria tray contained modest helpings of the basic food groups. "By the way, how'd you know Tracyn and I were up here?"

"Gedyc often retreats to the top of the hangar," Dinua replied evenly, taking a seat next to him and opening her own tray. "And despite being a _dikut_, you do have more than a few brain-cells up here." She lightly flicked his forehead with a finger. "It was natural to assume that you would find her and convince her that her actions were not becoming of a Mandalorian."

"Oh, I didn't exactly get around to that last part."

"Like I said, I assumed. I am not always right," Dinua continued, her voice monotone.

They ate in relative quiet, Doran still trying to wrap his mind around everything. "Hey, Dinua, can I ask you a question?"

"I might not answer," Dinua warned.

"'Kay. Look, you mentioned earlier about hating _Kyr'tsad_."

"I did."

"Why? I mean, I know your mother fought them. I read up on some of the history and…"

"The _Kyr'tsad_ fight for a time that has long since passed," Dinua said tightly. "They are a pitiful few who are trying to force their dream onto others by any means they deem necessary, not caring that all of _Manda'yaim_ have already rejected it. If it weren't for the fact that my father personally vouched for the safety of the _Kyr'tsad _who came here…"

"But what has Tracyn done to you personally?" Doran blinked in bewilderment. "How is she any different than Quito and those gunrunners your mom tore apart? From what I've heard from Jintar, she still follows most of the Mandalorian Code. She just chooses not to follow your Mandalore. She already has enough on her plate with the thousand or so who want to follow her because of her last name, do you really have to make things harder for her?"

Dinua glared at him again, but then looked away, looking as if she had just tasted something bitter. "You soft, _dikut. _Every time you open your mouth you say the most inane things."

"It's a talent."

Dinua's hands gripped the side of her tray tightly. The Mandalorian teen finally nodded once. "I will be…civil…to her. But don't think it's because of anything you said."

"Of course not," Doran held up his hands. "You're just exercising that superior Mando mind of yours. You see the value in having another ally instead of another enemy, and if she turns out to be an enemy anyways, you'll at least know how she thinks better."

"_Dar'manda._"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

"Got it."

**FtF(IV)FtF**

_Hi mom, it's me. _

_With the Mandalorian ban on communications to New Republic systems, I know it will be a while before you get this message, but I thought I'd record one anyways. In case you're worrying, I'm doing just fine. The days here are also insanely long and the nights unfairly short. It's going to take me a while to get used to nearly eighteen hours of sunlight and only six hours of darkness. But I've survived my first two days at Mando boot-camp and I've made a couple of friends as an added bonus. Only thing is that everyone's just a tad bit serious here, so I'm helping them develop a better sense of humor. _

_ In other news, I've decided not to use the Force for the near future. My teacher, a Mando girl a couple years older than me named Dinua Jeban, says that the Force is actually a handicap for the Jedi and that I have to find out who I am without it. She's a strict teacher, but fair. Though I'm currently very sore at the moment, her regimen is nothing like the Jedi katas or other methods used by those many teachers you took me to. She's currently preparing me for this Mando rite of passage into adulthood. And the more I hear about it, the less surprised I get about why all these Mandos seem so similar._

_ You know, before you brought me here, I always thought of the Mandalorians as a nothing but well-organized mercenaries who will do anything for a paycheck. Even in the two days I've been here, I've learned so much about them that weren't in those datapads you had me study. They're definitely a bunch of intense people, but they at least know who and what they stand for (even if they don't all agree!)._

_ I'll record another holo-message tomorrow, promise!_

_Your son, _

_Doran Sarkin Tainer_

**FtF(Chapter End)FtF**

**A\N:** Next update, next week!


	3. Forging Character

**Chapter 3: Forging Character**

**FtF(I)FtF**

Day three of his peculiar stay at the Mandalorian training camp on Gargon showed signs that it would be just as interesting as his first two days right from the start. After the very early morning run and workout with Dinua, a period where she remained just as aloof as ever, Doran made his way to the mess-hall. If there was one thing he could say about Mandalorians outside of their combat abilities, they _really_ knew how to cook. Then again, they probably needed all the calories to replace the ones they expended.

It was midway through his morning meal of sausages, egg, and some kind of flat-bread when the day took its first twist. The mess-hall was not exactly full due to the 'late' hour he was eating his breakfast, but it wasn't exactly empty either. There were about a hundred or so Mandalorian Protectors-in-training having a similarly late breakfast, and a few stragglers coming in every ten minutes or so.

One of those stragglers just happened to be Jintar, who caught sight of Doran and waved amicably. Doran inclined his head briefly, slightly embarrassed to be caught with his mouth full of food and his hand on his glass of juice.

Unfortunately, one of the other stragglers just happened to be Kote Lok and some of his flunkies.

"Hey, Skirata!" One of Kote's flunkies called out. "What happens when a science-experiment-gone-wrong gets together with a Hutt's pleasure girl? You get a muscle-bound _dikut_ who thinks he's a Mandalorian."

Jintar froze in place, his smile similarly locked into position. "_Copaani mirshmure'cye, jukadir ti buir?"_

"Wouldn't want to get in trouble again, Skirata," Kote retorted, ignoring the insult. "By the way, was your mother sure that the lab-rat she bedded really was your father? Don't they all look alike?"

As Kote and his group forcefully brushed by him, snickering at his joke, Jintar whirled about and blindsided Kote with a right hook. Kote was sent sprawling into a nearby table already occupied by several others. One of Kote's group retaliated, taking a swing at Jintar. The dark-skinned teen blocked the blow and head-butted the offender. But by then, the rest of Kote's group had shaken off the shock and had jumped into action.

For Doran, normally every single lesson he had been taught involved avoiding conflict or trying to end it. None of his lessons told him to jump head-first into a melee he probably wouldn't win. Nor did any of his lessons tell him what to do in his current situation. It wasn't like he could talk everyone down while they were in the midst of throwing punches, or that he could use the Force without negative repercussions.

So he did the next best thing.

One of Kote's friends was about to bring one of the plastisteel chairs down on Jintar's head from behind, only to feel two sharp jabs of pain in his own back. He staggered from the blows to his kidneys and looked over his shoulder in time to receive one of the metal dining trays to his face.

Doran smiled faintly when he caught Jintar's eyes, and the older teen smirked back. "Thanks for that."

"Something about Mandos watching each other's backs," Doran quipped. His eyes widened when Jintar threw a punch in his direction, and he instinctively ducked. The fist made contact with another one of Kote's friends, and sent _that_ Mando flying onto another table. "Thanks."

"Just returning the favor, _vod_."

Despite the momentary victories, Kote's group had been close to a dozen strong. And being from a prestigious clan like Clan Lok, they were well trained in combat. Three of them took the brief pause to leap on top of Jintar and drag him down, while another two proceeded to corner the other teen. The rest of the diners either ignored the fight or cheered the combatants on.

Though as tall as the two older teens pummeling him, Doran wasn't nearly as muscular. After his forearms gave out from blocking body-shaking blows, he let out a gasp as one blow came into contact with his stomach. A second blow, this time a glancing strike to his head, sent his world spinning as his legs gave out. Several kicks, punches, and stomps, and Doran struggled to stay conscious and protect himself.

Then a shrill whistle sounded, and everything stopped.

Vision still blurry and swimming, Doran weakly tried to look in the direction of the sharp noise. A Mandalorian in full gold armor stood in the doorway, not looking at all pleased.

"Who threw the first punch?" He barked.

Fingers immediately pointed to Jintar, who was bloodied and crumpled on the ground after being mounted and pounded by Kote himself.

The Mandalorian glowered. "Skirata, get your shebs off the ground and come with me."

Jintar wobbly got to his feet, swaying as he did. He spat out a glob of blood on the floor and tried to straighten himself as best as he could.

The Mandalorian in armor walked over to where Doran was, raising a single eyebrow. "And this poor _osik'_s story?"

"He probably jumped in mid-fight to back Skirata," a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dinua's to Doran's still ringing ears, answered in response. Some of the others in the room confirmed her story.

"Take him to the med-bay to get him patched up," the Mandalorian sounded almost approving. "I think he's learned his lesson."

When the Dinua-sound-alike moved to obey, Doran was only slightly shocked that it was indeed Dinua. Of course, with his head spinning, any thoughts hurt, so all he could do was grimace as she helped him to his feet.

"There _are_ easier ways to get out of my training regimens," Dinua said flatly, half-carrying his weight out of the mess-hall.

"Wasn't gonna let 'em take on Jintar. Twelve against one isn't fair," Doran slurred.

"And twelve against two is any better?"

"Why didn't you help out?"

"Just arrived," Dinua shook her head.

"But you wouldn't have intervened even if you were there," Doran pressed, his headache making him slightly grumpy.

"Probably not," Dinua admitted. "Unlike you Jedi, I can do math. Three against twelve is hardly any better. I know when to pick my fights, and that wasn't the time. What set Skirata off this time?"

"Some joke about a Hutt's pleasure girl and a science experiment, or something like that, I didn't get it."

"You'll have to take it up with him," Dinua shook her head.

"Will probably see him in the med-bay sooner or later," Doran shrugged, an action that caused him to wince in pain.

"Maybe, maybe not. This wouldn't be the first fight Skirata let his fists get him into," Dinua said noncommittally. "I know my father is debating whether or not to let him stay. More trouble than he's worth."

"What about Kote? He did kind of start things."

"From the sounds of things, the only thing he did was run his mouth. Not his fault Skirata couldn't keep cool. He was defending himself afterwards."

"So you're defending Kote?"

"No, merely pointing out the facts. The last fight his people and Skirata had occurred just before you came. Skirata was confined quarters for a couple days. Definitely doesn't help that two of the instructors on this platform are Clan Lok. That _dikutla_ Skirata just has a habit of picking the wrong battles."

"And no one else backs him up?"

"Who would?" Dinua said apathetically. "His clan's notorious for taking out a couple others that didn't agree with them. Got many others hurt just by being bystanders too. Some see the Skiratas as bullies. There's a reason why they're all huddled up over at their home and not part of the Protectors or Mand'alor-controlled Mandalorians."

The door to the med-bay opened, and two med-droids hovered over and began assessing Doran.

"We prescribe four hours of bacta and minimal physical activity for the rest of the day," the twin med-droids announced at the end of their exam.

"See you in four hours, _dar'manda_," Dinua said calmly. "Having your cheekbone fractured and bruised ribs is not a reason to miss your training. We only have two more days after today to get you ready, and you definitely need all the time you can get."

"Aye, aye, Instructor Jeban, ma'am," Doran muttered.

Dinua left him in the care of the emotionless droids, and he achingly stripped down to prepare for a nice and comforting bacta dip. Just as he was entering the harness to be lowered, the doors to the med-bay opened, and this time Jintar was escorted in by Tracyn.

The moment Tracyn saw Doran's battered state, she not too gently elbowed the already battered Jintar. "See what you did, _mir'osik_, you got the _ad_ beaten to a pulp!"

"I probably look worse than I feel," Doran said with a brave smile.

"Keep talking and I'll make sure your looks and feelings match," Tracyn glowered.

Doran hastily put on the oxygen mask to avoid saying anything else.

"Sorry about that, really," Jintar grimaced, enduring the med-droid's poking and prodding. "I was just fed up with that bastard mouthing off."

"And punching him made everything loads better," Tracyn shook her head in disgust. "I have exactly two friends on this station, and both of them have a single brain cell to share between the two of them."

"Hey, we have at least a handful between the two of us," Jintar protested.

"After the pounding the two of you took, they probably all escaped and headed for the nearest ack dog," Tracyn retorted. "At least those don't bite off more than they can chew. If you start a fight, can you at least wait until I'm there next time?"

"Wait, what?" Doran asked through his mask, just before he was dunked into the bacta tank.

Tracyn took an empty plastic bottle of disinfectant and proceeded to whack Jintar and then the outside of Doran's bacta tank. "Maybe the two of you would have fought a bit harder if you knew this cute little part-Ewok was going to get pounded if you didn't. Might have even won."

"Oh," Jintar and Doran nodded sagely, as if they should have known.

"By the way, we did just get pounded. Do you have to add to the abuse?" Jintar rubbed his bruised arm.

"Shush and just get into the bacta tank," Tracyn glowered, her heart-shaped face scrunched in a cute combination of annoyance and worry.

"Yes ma'am," both Jintar and Doran chimed.

"I'll be back in a little bit," Tracyn said. "Right now I'm going to go keep Jeban from doing something normally out of character."

"Huh?" Doran asked, his voice now with a metallic tint as he floated about in the tank of healing liquid.

"Mando pride and all that," Tracyn waved a dismissive hand and headed towards the door. "Someone beat up her student, so her teaching skills will be in question. Let me tell you, having the second-best knife-fighter in this place angry with you isn't exactly conducive to your health. If we're lucky you guys might have a few friends soon."

When Tracyn was gone, Doran glanced over to Jintar's tank. "Hey Jintar."

"Yeah _vod?_"

"Are all Mando girls that scary?"

There was a moment of silence and Doran could tell that his Mandalorian friend was thinking of all the females he knew. After a few seconds, Jintar finally nodded in his tank. "Yup, definitely. Attractive, isn't it?"

"You Mandos are insane."

Jintar laughed. "That we are."

**FtF(II)FtF**

"And that's basically it," Jintar explained. "My dad and his brothers are all clones of a bounty-hunter hired by a Sith Lord to wage a war to help another Sith Lord come into power."

"Oh, simple," Doran said sarcastically. Floating about in bacta for four hours meant that the two had a little time to get to know one and other better.

"Don't forget the part where they cured their accelerated aging by using Imperial scientists, Jedi powers, and billions of stolen credits."

"Oh yeah, forgot about that," Doran continued in the same tone, staring at Jintar in disbelief. "I also didn't forget how your mother used to be a Hutt's personal singer until your dad and his brothers ransacked the Hutt's palace and rescued her."

"Fun times, at least according to Uncle A'den."

"Again, you Mandos are insane."

"So how about you? I'm sure with a Jedi mother you've had more than your fair share of adventures. Aunt Scout and Kina Ha had tons of stories."

"Anyone related to a Jedi usually gets caught up in an unnecessary twisted adventure," Doran deadpanned. "But in my case, nothing so exciting as your story. Mom didn't know she was a Jedi until she was in her twenties. Dad was a pilot one wrong step from washing out of starfighter command. They had their usual military adventures, but that's about it."

"Don't feel bad. I doubt many people have the type of adventures my folks have," Jintar shook his head in amusement. "I mean, with uncles like Meerel, Fi, and Ordo, you'll never have a boring day."

"So, if I got it right. It's because your dad is a clone and your clan is kind of famous, that the rest of your cohort gives you flak?"

"'Kind of famous,' I think I'll use that next time."

"Understatement?"

"Let's just say that my clan didn't get to where it is today without steamrolling over a variety of lively characters. Like…well…can you keep a secret, even from the _Kyr'tsadika_?"

"Uh…sure?"

"Not sure how she'll take it given how she doesn't seem to care about her flesh and blood, but it was our clan that off'ed her grandma's lover and made her even crazier than she was. Long story, but basically my clan is very familiar with Isabet Reau and her line. Even had a hand in taking out Gedyc's own father when he became _too _extreme in his views."

"I take it Tracyn doesn't know?"

At that, Jintar looked decidedly uncomfortable. "No…and…well…When grandpa heard that Isabet's granddaughter signed up with this training academy, he told me to keep an eye on her. We already know she has a sizable following in _Kyr'tsad_, so she's a potential danger to both _Mand'alor_ and my clan."

Doran felt a chill run through his spine. "Keep an eye on her, that's it?"

Jintar wouldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah, that's it."

"Jintar."

"You have to understand, Doran. _Kyr'tsad_, in their prime, murdered thousands in a single year; massacred entire villages for refusing to cooperate with them. They would do anything to further their goals, _anything_. Isabet was one of the instructors teaching the clones how to fight during the war. She tried to indoctrinate them into the _Kyr'tsad_ way, even had them fight amongst each other so that they would understand the strongest live. With the way the galaxy is heading right now, we can't let the _Kyr'tsad_ take advantage of the chaos and come back."

"Come on! You've heard Tracyn. You know the last thing she wants is a continuation of that struggle. You've even known her for longer than I have and…"

"I know! I know!" Jintar said helplessly. "But orders are orders, especially if they're from Grandpa Kal. It could be an act for all I know. Can't you use your Jedi powers to…"

"No," Doran said coldly. "Tracyn's my friend. I won't do it."

"Fine," Jintar said holding up a hand to placate the younger teen. "But see it from my shoes. Tracyn may not advocate violence, but she's still a firm believer of _Kyr'tsad_ doctrines. Hence, she's still a danger to the Mandalorian way."

"I guess even Mandalorians have a boogeyman they're terrified of," Doran commented.

Looking rueful, Jintar nodded. "Yeah. Our own twisted reflection. After all, what else would a Mandalorian be scared of than another Mandalorian."

An awkward silence descended, with both floating in their bacta tanks casting about for something else to say.

"So…how's your stay with us so far?" Jintar said with false cheer. "Discovered if you have _mandokar_ or not?"

"Huh?"

"_Mandokar_, you know, the 'right stuff.' The stuff needed to eat raw metal and spit blasterbolts."

"Don't know about discovering that. I did discover a few new muscle groups though."

"It's a start," Jintar chuckled. "Your _Verd'goten_ is in two days, right? Nervous?"

"Not really. I mean, after what Dinua's put me through, it can't be all that bad, can it?"

"All depends on who you get for your sparring partner. Those sessions are first so you might get the floor wiped with that skinny shebs of yours and be too sore to do anything else."

"Memo to self, don't use butt to wipe the floor, got it," Doran nodded sagely.

"I've seen some of what you can do, and it's already more than what others years older than you can do. You should be fine."

"Thanks," Doran blushed. "It'd be kind of embarrassing if I flunked out of mando-school and had to get picked up by my mom."

"_Kyr'tsadika_ and I will be cheering you on from the sidelines."

Doran smiled faintly, still troubled by the fact that all his new Mandalorian friends appeared to secretly, or not so secretly, hate each other. And he thought his life couldn't get any more complicated or weirder. "So what about you?"

"Me?"

"I know you and Dinua and Tracyn are a couple months ahead of me. You planning on becoming Mando Supercommandos?"

"_Or'ramikade_? Heck no," Jintar burst out laughing. "My uncles would be horrified that I actually put in hard work to become part of the establishment. But seriously? I doubt I'll make it. The base commanders only take the top five in every cohort. I'm good, but not that good."

"What better way to shut Kote and his idiot followers up?" Doran offered.

"A fist works."

"And you end up getting your brand new _vod_ in bacta right along with you, with Ms. Half-Ewok glaring at you."

Jintar released a breath, shaking his head. "Doran…"

"You said that Mandos watch each other's back. Dinua's going to become a _Or'ramikade_, so what happens when she leaves here?"

"You just had to go and say that," Jintar laughed, but this time it was a softer, almost ironic laugh. He stared off at the distant med-bay wall. "Were you using your Jedi powers to dig that up?"

"Huh? No, I was just…"

"It's okay if you were," Jintar sighed. "Not sure how much you know of Dinua's past, but her clan and my own are pretty close...were pretty close. Her clan was one of the larger ones that helped to protect my uncles and dad after they defected. Paid a heavy price for it too, Empire killed off all of them but Dinua's mom. When Dinua's mom went off on her bounty-hunting and other merc work, our clan would look after Dinua for her."

"You don't seem that close to her."

"Things change," Jintar said distantly. "Anyways, Grandpa Kal's other orders to me were to keep an eye on her. Make sure no one gives her a rough time. Didn't see the point though. The Ice Queen can take care of herself. You'd have to be suicidal to even want to talk with her and everyone on this station knows it."

"Your grandpa did give you orders though. Are you going to tell me you'll ignore it?" Doran said innocently, having picked up this particular skill from his parents.

Jintar glared at Doran. "_Dar'manda_, shut it. Of course I'll follow his orders."

"_Dar'manda_ from you too?"

"You annoyed me," Jintar replied dryly.

"And when will _you_ stop calling me that."

"When Jeban believes you've earned it."

"Great, so never."

"Don't sell yourself short, _ad_."

"So does this mean you'll be a Mando Supercommando too?"

"I'll do my best," Jintar grumbled. "Instructors look down on me too, so don't expect much."

"Just means you'll actually have to earn your marks," Doran shrugged.

"Were you this annoying for _Kyr'tsadika_ and Jeban?"

Doran took a moment to think. "Yes."

"Figures."

It was at that moment that the medical droids decided to remove both of the teenage boys from their bacta dip. The two droids then separated the teens to clean them up and ready them for discharge.

"Please refrain from any strenuous physical activity for the rest of the day," the droid intoned politely.

"Jintar, this thing does know we're in a Mandalorian training camp?" Doran asked, wiping the bacta residue away with a towel.

"Given the injuries it sees, they'd have to," Jintar called back over a privacy screen.

"So, where are you going to be headed after this?"

"Back to my training squad," Jintar replied. "We have a squad-on-squad sim-fight in the afternoon. Squad commander's going to be pissed that I got myself banged up though."

"Who's your squad commander?"

"_Kyr'tsadika_ of course," Jintar laughed. "Who else would pick me to join their team?"

"Good luck."

"You're the one with Jeban as his instructor. I think you need that luck more than I do."

Doran pulled on the loose pair of simple, woven pants and shirt and slipped back into his shoes. "See you around, Jintar. Thanks for keeping bacta time un-boring."

Jintar laughed. "Back at you. I can tell the rest of my time here will be more than a little interesting with you around."

"That's me, Jedi Doran Sarkin-Tainer, making this galaxy a brighter place."

"Do you Jedi actually believe that?"

"The alternative is that we're wasting our lives trying to plug up a leaking dam with just our fingers," Doran shrugged.

"Good point. Well, carry on," Jintar gave Doran a mock salute. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to rejoin my training unit before I get into any more trouble."

"Yes, sir."

"By the way, _Dar'manda._"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks again for this morning."

"You would have done the same," Doran replied with a smile.

Jintar inclined his head briefly before pulling on his shirt and hastily sprinting from the room.

"Do you require additional medical attention?" The med-droid attending to Doran asked.

"Ask me that in two days," Doran breathed.

"Very well, I have scheduled a medical appointment for you in two days."

**FtF(III)FtF**

Doran had a smile as he exited the medical wing. But the smile promptly dropped off when he saw that Kote and some of his friends were waiting for him in the nearby hallway outside.

"Well, well, little boy, you seem to be making all the wrong friends," Kote sneered.

Doran tried the Jedi tactic of simply walking by as if he hadn't heard anything. He should have remembered that he was in a Mandalorian training camp and not a Jedi one. Kote grabbed a hold of Doran's sleeve, halting the younger teen where he was.

"Don't you turn your back on me, boy."

Doran could feel his heart-rate accelerate as it became clearer he might be heading back into the medical room earlier than he expected. Five on one odds, when all five were bulky, muscular teens, wasn't exactly odds he wanted to endorse.

"Okay, Kote. What do you want?"

"Just letting you know that I've had a talk with the Instructors. I'll be your tester for your _Verd'goten_."

Doran eyed the mountain of muscle, there was no doubt that Kote was a skilled warrior. "Great, thanks for telling me, see you in two days then."

There was a whirl of movement, and Kote slammed Doran against the wall. "I wasn't finished talking, aiwa-bait."

"You know, the name is 'Doran.' It's like you Mandos here can't remember something that simple."

Kote glared, his forearm pressed against Doran's throat. "This is your last warning, aiwa-bait. Stay away from Gedyc and Skirata if you want to make it out of this place alive. The _Mando'ade_ don't need trash like them in our ranks."

"And here I thought it was against the rules to kill a fellow mando."

"You're not a full _Mando'ade_ until you've passed your _Verd'goten_. Even then, accidents sometimes happen."

"Indeed," the voice of Dinua said with icy lethalness. "Like my hand could suddenly develop a twitch."

Both Doran and Kote froze, the sight of a crackling vibroblade held to Kote's throat instantly settling any disputes.

"It is so kind of you to hold my student until I could come and collect him, Lok," Dinua said smoothly, keeping the blade to Kote's throat even after he had released Doran. Despite being in a similar cloth tunic that Doran wore, she was the picture of a lethal warrior; her dark hair pulled back in a pony-tail, her expression like ice. "I was not aware that you were so interested in his well-being."

"You know us _Mando'ade_ look out for each other," Kote said evenly, stepping backwards at Dinua's guided insistence.

"If you want to teach him something, wait until you meet him in the ring. Otherwise, to attack him before the match, one might think you're scared of losing to him in a fair fight."

Kote's jaw tightened. "You question my clan's integrity?"

"No, just yours," Dinua said coolly. "Now take your lackies with you and don't let me see you until the boy's _Verd'goten_. You won't like the consequences otherwise. Clear?"

"Crystal," Kote ground his teeth, continuing to back up down the hallway with his hands out to his side.

"Then go," Dinua said darkly, sheathing her vibroblade.

Kote and his group slunk off down the hallway, leaving Doran to face Dinua's incredulous raised eyebrow. "Really, _dar'manda_? You _just _got out of the medbay."

"Hey, it's me," Doran shrugged sheepishly.

Dinua swatted him on the back of his head. "Let's go back to Quito's place. We've lost enough time as it is and you need to be in better shape if you want to pass the _Verd'goten_."

"The med-droids said that I shouldn't…" Doran trailed off at Dinua's stony expression. "Errr…never mind, I'm sure they were just being cautious."

He matched Dinua's stride step for step. The Mandalorian teen appearing particularly not in a good mood. "With Kote as your tester, we cannot take any chances. He knows the old ways and will no doubt invoke some obscure rule to make your _verd'goten_ harder."

"He's a good fighter?"

"I'll make you a better one," Dinua replied tersely. "His clan uses an ancient Mandalorian combat style borne from the days of the Mandalorian Crusades, said to have been developed when one of their own had been _Mand'alor_."

"Great, so what does this style look like?"

"Solely made for dueling. It's designed to unnerve and then enrage opponents, using their own strengths and weaknesses against them. One of Quito's people is a practitioner of the art, you'll see what I mean."

"So the fact that he's a dozen kilos of muscles bigger than me isn't an advantage enough?"

"Gedyc kicked your shebs, repeatedly, _dar'manda_. And she's half your size. Size matters not, don't you think?"

"Point."

"Like I said, I'll make you better," Dinua said determinedly. "And you _will_ grind Kote's face in the ground when you're done with him."

"I'll settle for just beating him." Doran grimaced when Dinua thumped his arm. "What?"

"You are definitely too soft to be a Mando, _dar'manda. _You don't establish yourself as a better fighter, he'll never respect you."

"You don't seem to care much about others respecting you or not," Doran said with raised eyebrows.

"_I_ am not the _ad_ trying to pretend to be a Mandalorian. _I_ know who I am. You still need to find your way, _dar'manda. _Until you do, you'll be bait for others who have to prove themselves."

They reached the turbolift to the surface and descended in silence. Awaiting them at the bottom was a speeder, prepped and ready to go.

"No jog?"

"Can't waste time on that, we already lost half a day of training. Besides, you're in good physical condition," Dinua slid into the driver's side and proceeded to take them through the gravel quarry.

In no time at all, they had reach Quito's little corner of the planet, the Toydarian gun-runner looking resigned as they pulled into the courtyard.

"Jeban!"

"Quito," Dinua acknowledged, sliding out of the speeder to greet the host. "I'll need to borrow your head-crackers again."

"Fine, fine," the Toydarian gestured absently. "By the way, I've heard some interesting things from my associates."

"Oh?"

"I'm sure if I saw some credits I'd remember it," Quito said cagily.

Dinua sighed, rolled her eyes, then pulled out her vibroblade and proceeded to put the tip against Quito's chin. "The information, Quito. Then you get paid."

"Okay, okay," Quito gasped. "Word has it that the training camp is about to host a permanent garrison of those Vong characters. My contacts heard one of the bigshots over there complaining about it over at the cantina. The Vong are supposed to be here next week to supervise the training of their 'loyal' allies."

Dinua raised a dark eyebrow and lowered her vibroblade. "Wasn't that hard, was it?"

"My money?"

Dinua flipped him a credit-chit. "A deal's a deal."

"Right, now I'll just go and look over some contracts while you borrow my people again. I really should start charging you for their time you know."

Dinua let the electric current in her vibroblade hum loudly.

"Or I can keep on being the good sport I am and let you do your Mandalorian thing," Quito quickly fluttered away.

"I can see why your mom kept him around," Doran chuckled softly. "Definitely has good self-preservation instincts."

"Also means we can't trust him further than we can throw him," Dinua said darkly. "It's why he doesn't know about your heritage. Why it's vital you keep your mouth shut. He learns about it, he'll go straight to the Vong."

"Didn't know you cared," Doran replied glibly.

Dinua ignored his remark, turning instead to Quito's Mandalorian hires. "San'te," Dinua addressed the human with the mohawk. "He's up against a Lok for his _Verd'goten._"

"The _dar'manda_?" The Mandalorian whistled, folding his arms in front of him. "Poor kid. At least your old man didn't have a sense of humor and make you the _ad_'s tester."

"San'te," Dinua sighed, looking pointedly at the man who was probably two decades older than her.

"Alright, alright," the man held up his hands. Then addressed the other three Mandalorians. "You guys can go help Quito out. I'll try to help Jeban's student _not_ get pasted."

"Is this combat technique special or something?" Doran asked in a low voice to Dinua.

"_Ad_," the dark-skinned human raised an eyebrow. "How much of the knife and hand-to-hand combat portions of the _Verd'goten_ do you know about?"

"That I fight and do my best to impress everyone watching?"

"Did Jeban tell you of the clothing requirement?"

"Errrr," Doran glanced back to Dinua. "No?"

"That portion of the fight is a test of your own abilities. No armor, no cloth, no special belt to enhance yourself or lessen blows. If a knife cuts, they'll see the blood. If you slip, it will be because your foot became sweaty. At the ages of eleven to thirteen all Mandalorian children are taught to be comfortable with their bodies, are taught to view their bodies as a weapon in combat." He approached Doran and pressed a finger to his head. "What you have in here is your greatest weapon. Your arms, your legs, your core, they are all extensions of your will. Know them, and they will not fail you."

"So…I have to fight naked?"

"No," San'te smirked. "You'll be given a ceremonial loin cloth dating back to the time of the Taungs. But nothing else. You're fortunate you aren't up against a female member of their clan."

At that information, Doran couldn't help but look at Dinua, his teenage mind temporarily hijacking his thought processes. He quickly shook himself though and glanced back to see that San'te was smiling in amusement. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"The fighting style Lok uses for the _Verd'goten_ is about undermining their opponent by making them doubt themselves. They'll toy with you and make it very obvious that they're doing it. They'll insult you constantly to get under your skin. They'll insinuate things, probably mention some of what you were thinking when you glanced back over at Jeban."

Doran felt his cheeks heat up. "I wasn't…"

"You can't let comments like that get to you," San'te rebuked. "Much of the Lok combat style is loud and showy, but if you can keep your head clear, you'll win."

"You seem to know a lot about it."

"Lok isn't the only ones who adhere to the old ways. My clan…well, if they still consider me a part of it…they were like the anti-Lok. Didn't help my position when I lost to a Lok member during _my_ _Verd'goten. _Kote's father to be exact. I decided to learn everything I could about them after that loss. Made myself better for it."

"Okay, then can you teach me how to fight it?"

San'te shook his head. "You're not listening boy. The only way to successfully combat Lok's _Verd'goten_ fighting styles is to be true to yourself, secure in your emotions. To know your limits and know if you are truly beaten or just demoralized. You aren't required to win, just show that you have mastered yourself and understand the values of what it means to be a Mandalorian."

Doran could only blink blankly at that. Ever since he had come to the training station he'd always heard 'Mandalorian this,' 'Mandalorian that,' 'Mandalorian blah blah'. Given that he _was_ on a Mandalorian world, it was understandable. But to the outside galaxy, the Mandalorians were nothing more than backwater mercenaries, defined solely by the actions of Boba Fett and his fearsome reputation. Doran had met many different cultures and learned many different customs in his travels with his mom.

But the Mandalorian culture was strangely hypocritical. They preached the virtues of being Mandalorian, yet were willing to sell their guns to the highest bidder. They valued their homes, families, friends, yet were willing to sell out to this alien race that had already annihilated whole planets. They wanted to portray themselves as skilled warriors, professional soldiers, yet they lived in ragtag camps and fought amongst each other more often than not.

How could someone understand their roots, their identity, if it was always up for sale? He must have voiced the question aloud because San'te raised an eyebrow.

"He still hasn't gotten it yet, has he?" San'te's wry question to Dinua shook Doran from his thoughts.

"He's still a _dar'manda_," Dinua shrugged. She then pointed a finger at Doran. "Listen _dikut._ _You_ don't define yourself, that's the job of the people you surround yourself with. Your job is to surround yourself with the right sort of people who will keep you alive. If you're a true Mandalorian, you carry that identity within yourself and don't need another to confirm or deny it. They'll recognize that _mandokar_ the moment they see it.

San'te and the others may not make an honest credit, may be disgraces in the eyes of their clans, but they can count on one and other if the time comes, and they know it. You've been hearing it from day one. Your clan chooses you, your parents give you life, but _you_ choose who you consider to be family. It might be a squad of _Or'ramikade_, or it could be a bunch of gun-runners.

And this isn't solely about Mandalorians either. You either know who you are, or you don't. And if you don't, you'll soon find out through the company you keep. There's no opinion more honest than a friend telling you that you're a _dikutla dar'manda_ and that you need to get your act together."

Doran again blinked, not used to Dinua actively trying to help him in any way.

"Okay, I'll try to think like that. It's a good thing I have you around to call me an idiotic _dar'manda_ then."

Dinua's pale cheeks turned a slight pink and she took a step back, a hand on her canted hip. "Shut up, _dar'manda_ and focus on your training. I'll be back later to pick you up, that is, if you're still among the living."

She whirled around in a flash and stormed out of Quito's compound.

Doran gulped nervously and turned back to San'te.

"Ready _ad_?"

"Not like I have a choice, right?"

"You can always pack up and run to mommy."

Doran could only groan. Add homicidally insane to the list of traits one could attribute to a Mandalorian. Especially one that apparently washed out of boot-camp. Doran raised his hands in a combat stance, already well-aware of how sore he was probably going to be.

_This better be worth it._

**FtF(IV)FtF**

"You look like a herd of shatuals trampled on you." The amused voice of Jintar Skirata somehow filtered into Doran's sluggish mind. Jintar took an exaggerated sniff. "Or reeks. You definitely reek."

"Har, har." Doran muttered into his pillow

"At least you didn't come back looking like a strill chew-toy."

The young Jedi turned his head a fraction, his back muscles protesting even that movement. For some reason, his self-imposed 'no using the Force' seemed like a very dumb idea. No wonder Dinua called him 'dikut'. "Don't you have your own training to do?"

"In between them at the moment."

"Right, you guys were doing squad-on-squad sims," Doran groaned and rolled over onto his back. "How did that go?"

Jintar smiled wryly. "It went okay. Those type of things don't really matter in the long run. If we lost, it would be my fault. If we won it would be in spite of me."

"How do you do it, then? Day after day of your Mando 'family' looking down on you?"

"The alternative is to quit and prove them right." Doran heard his own words echoed back at him and wondered just how much Tracyn and Jintar talked.

"Why do you have to prove anything to them? Dinua said that a Mandaloian chooses their family."

"That's the thing, _ad._ I _am_ choosing my family. Most of the people on this station don't know the first thing about Mandalorian history. Don't know what it truly means to be a Mandalorian. They just get adopted into some clan, parade around in the armor, and pound their chests about being _jatnese be te jatnese_; the best of the best. But ask them why the Mandalorians wear _beskar'gam_. Ask them the history of their clan, where on _Manda'yaim_ their clans grew out of, and most will probably tell you it's unimportant."

"But not to you?"

"Doran, my dad and his brothers were grown in a test-tube on some distant planet, trained by people that were considered too extreme by many. Old-man Skirata took them in and made sure they knew that stuff like that didn't matter. All that mattered was their actions, that they brought honor to the Skirata name. _He_ valued what was within. And that's what I'm doing. I'm following his example, my dad's example, and finding people whose opinions I actually care about. Who actually understand that family is more than blood, more than words. Then again, we all have our quirks. This is just mine. Maybe I'm just a glutton for abuse, probably inherited it."

Doran chose to stare up at the ceiling, concentrating on a small patch of rusted metal. "Maybe I am too. Why else am I still here letting Dinua drag me to teachers to train the ever-loving sweat out of me?"

"Speaking of sweat, can you _please_ use the refresher?" Jintar sighed, gesturing to the cubical at the end of the row of bunks. "I know this is a dorm room, but it doesn't have to smell like a locker room too."

With a groan, Doran rolled himself out of the bunk and plopped to the floor like a jellyfish. He weakly glanced at the clock on the far wall and cursed. "I really hate these eighteen hour days."

A short sonic shower later left him feeling closer to human than before, but his body still protested every movement. San'te had been brutal in his training, physically and mentally. At the end of it, Doran felt emotionally numb. The ex-Mandalorian had definitely known which buttons to press on an out of place, just-become teenager. As he left the refresher feeling, well, refreshed, he realized that Jintar wasn't in the bunkroom any more. Frowning, he was about to step outside to look for him, when he heard voices filter through the thin sheet metal door of the room.

"Don't be a fool, Skirata. That_ copikla_ is _Kyr'tsad,_ a traitor, a nothing. Her kind are better off dead. Sure she might be easy on the eyes, but that and a little more is really all she's good for. This is your chance to prove to us that you're a true Mando at heart. Where do you stand, Skirata? With the True Mandalorians, the ones who follow the will of _Mand'alor _himself. Or with the enemy? You can't have it both ways."

_"Ni cuyi Mando'ade_." Doran heard Jintar hiss venomously.

"Then prove it! Prove to everyone here that the Skirata aren't good for nothing thieves and murderers. That they ally with _Mand'alor _and not _Kyr'tsad_. In these times, we Mandalorians need to know who is watching our backs, and right now we aren't so sure about you. Clone-spawn. All the genes but none of the talent or the brains."

"I should kill you for that."

"I take it back, you did inherit the muscle, but nothing else," another voice snorted. "You call yourself a Mandalorian, Skirata, then tell that _Kyr'tsad _princess to meet you in the lower hangars tonight. Help us get rid of the rot that plagues the Mandalorians. Commander Beviin was foolish for letting those thugs into our training facility. It's time we help him clean house."

"What are you going to do to her?"

"That's not _worry_ I hear, is it?" the first speaker sneered.

The other voice answered. "That's not your concern, Skirata. Your orders are to get her down there, that's all. She'll get what's coming that's for sure though. Her parents never should have had her. So, are you up for it, Skirata? Or are you going to disgrace the Mando name by putting up with filth like her?"

"I…"

"What was that, Skirata? I shouldn't be hearing anything other than 'sir, I'm up for it, sir.'"

"Sir, I'm up for it, sir."

"Good. See you then, Skirata. For what it's worth, you made the right choice. The Mandalorians can't afford division now. Not when we have our new allies from another galaxy."

The sound of a pair of footsteps walking away echoed through the drafty hallway.

The door to the room hissed open again, and Doran found himself face to face with Jintar.

"Sucuy," Doran said sarcastically.

"How much did you hear?" Jintar said tersely.

"Enough. What happened to only caring about the opinions that matter? About making your own family?"

"I don't have a choice."

"You always do."

"You don't get it!" Jintar snapped. "You're a nothing from outside, with no clan or reputation to uphold. Nothing is expected of you except for failure! A _dar'manda!_ For me, I have the entire name of Clan Skirata riding on my shoulders. All my uncles are Mandalorians of the highest degree. Grandpa Kal is more of a Mando than I can ever hope to be. They had to fight to earn that respect, had to watch hundreds and thousands of people they knew die for them to get here! _I_ busted my shebs for nearly the entire year just so the upper tier clans can acknowledge that what I do isn't luck but skill! And those Mandos you heard outside are right. The _Kyr'tsad_ doesn't deserve our protection. My family even fought and killed a bunch of them because those _dikutlase_ running around in _beskargam_ were giving us Mandos a bad name. Those two you heard outside, they're from Clan Ordo! You can't get any more Mandalorian than them!"

"I never took you as the guy who wanted to hang out with the popular crowd," Doran said dryly.

"It's more than being popular, _ad_." Jintar growled in frustration, throwing his hands up. "By showing Clan Ordo where Skirata's loyalties lie, I can help my clan gain support in the Mandalorian senate. Skirata's goals can get advanced faster, will have the backing of other clans allied to Ordo. We'll be acknowledged as a _real_ clan, and not something Grandpa Kal slapped together on a whim."

"And what will you have given up in return?" Doran shot back, not backing down from the taller teen. "Your so-called Mando honor? What has Tracyn done to you to deserve a knife in her back?"

"Nothing!" Jintar yelled, pounding a strong fist into a nearby locker door. "But if it comes down to her or the welfare of my clan, my clan has to come first! We didn't bleed and die to have our name tread upon, to have our loyalties questioned. She's only _Kyr'tsad_, not even a real Mando. Ask anyone on this station and…"

The two teens trailed off as they sensed a third pair of eyes on them.

"Really, Skirata?" Dinua Jeban said tonelessly. "Now you see why I don't hang out with you and the _Kyr'tsadika_? One of you is a pariah trying to be a Mando, and the other is a Mando trying to be a pariah. Never could tell who was who sometimes."

"Stay out of this, Jeban."

Dinua ignored him and arched an eyebrow at Doran. "You agree with him?"

"I have a general rule against stabbing friends in the back."

"A good rule," Dinua nodded once. "Come, you have to practice your blaster skills. I have the range set up."

"What about Tracyn?"

"Not your business."

"She's my friend."

"You help her, you'll be making an enemy of practically everyone on this station," Dinua said without emotion. "You don't need that sort of aggravation right now, _dar'manda_. Choose fights you can win. Remember, it was only this morning you got out of a bacta tank for choosing the wrong fight." She then gazed deliberately at Jintar. "Besides, Skirata's a coward, he doesn't have the _mandokar _to go through with it."

"Watch it," Jintar growled.

"Even if he does go through with it, he'll have just proven everyone's opinion about his clan. That they'll sacrifice anyone to survive, to get to the top. My clan had to learn that the hard way. Gedyc might have to too," she looked away from Jintar and back to Doran, not giving the older male teen another glance. "Now, let's go. If you want your deeds or words to hold any weight here, you need the others to acknowledge you as an adult first. Rescue _dikutla_ from their troubles after. Your Jedi abilities are only going to get you killed here, so hone your other skills."

Reluctantly agreeing, Doran nodded once and followed Dinua out into the hallway. "I can't just leave things alone though."

"And tell me, _dar'manda_. What would you do? Warn the _Kyr'tsadika_? Fight at her side?" Their rapid footsteps echoed in the hallway. "Then what would become of Skirata? You have my father's protection, Jintar does not. The same people who would condemn you for taking the side of a _Kyr'tsad_ over a Mandalorian would strike back at Skirata. He will forever be branded a traitor, someone who didn't support his fellow Mandalorians against a common enemy. And an enemy is what Gedyc ultimately is. She is here under a flag of truce only, and rightly so. You know so little of the _Kyr'tsad_, _dar'manda_, that you should not involve yourself in their affairs without learning more."

"Then teach me about them," Doran pressed. "Because I am not about to let a friend get herself in a world of trouble just because of some stupid Mandalorian obligation. I'm also not about to let Jintar do something he'll really, _really_ regret."

Dinua cocked her head at Doran. "So what part of you wants to save them?"

"What?"

"Is this desire to save them because you are a Jedi? A Mandalorian? A human?"

"A friend," Doran countered softly. "I would think that concept is universal. Someone you can rely on to protect you, even from yourself. Jedi, Mandalorian ,it doesn't matter. We all have friends."

"_I_ do not."

"And I'm sorry," Doran said.

"I am to be _Or'ramikad _like my mother. I have no time for friendships and the annoying drama that comes with it. Just look at yourself and those two _dikutlase you_ consider friends."

"You already know I'm going to help Tracyn. Are you just going to let me make a mess of things, then?"

Dinua hesitated for a split second, looking away from him with a stony face. "Yes."

"Even if I'm supposed to be your student, your responsibility?"

"Some lessons are better off learned firsthand."

"How nice of you," Doran said dryly.

They entered an empty cargo bay. At one end was a pile of rags and a rifle. At the other end were various cans and bottles, set up on cargo crates in standard shooting-gallery format. Dinua glanced at Doran again, releasing a low breath.

"Hit all your targets and I'll _consider_ helping you. I do have other things I need to be doing after all."

"Well, clear your schedule, Instructor Jeban," Doran quipped, noting that the rifle on the ground was a simple bolt-action slug-thrower. "Because I don't intend to miss."

"I did say _'consider_'."

"Consider helping me out as good for that Mando soul of yours," Doran said, making himself prone on the ground and picking up the rifle. It was heavier than most blaster rifles, less accurate too, but it was still lethal in the right hands. And with his dad as a special operations soldier and his mom as a former Antarian Ranger, Doran had more than a little training in how to use such weapons.

He sighted his first target and pulled the trigger. The metal slug burst free and streaked down the range, massacring an innocent can of dried goods. Doran cocked the gun and fired again, the shrapnel from his next decimated can shattered a neighboring bottle.

"Not bad," Dinua said coolly. "Close your eyes now. Do you remember where the targets are?"

"Yeah."

"Open your eyes again."

Doran did as instructed, surprised to find that the lighting in the room had been dimmed to near complete darkness.

"With the lights down like this, how am I supposed to see anything?" Doran complained. "Because I take it you don't want me using the Force."

"You remember where the targets are, they haven't moved," Dinua said unsympathetically. "If the shooting portion of your _Verd'goten_ occurs at night, or in sudden cloud cover, you will still have to take your shot. Remember, like your arms and legs, the rifle is merely an extension of yourself. Visualize where you last saw the target and fire."

"You _really_ don't want to help me out tonight, do you?"

"Getting involved in someone else's mistake is not something I normally endeavor to do. Take your shot, _dar'manda_."

Doran concentrated and fired again, the sound of glass breaking indicating another successful hit. "I thought you Mandos always needed someone watching your backs. Why would anyone watch yours if you won't do the same?"

"Skirata and Gedyc aren't exactly the first, second, or third people I have in mind when I want back up," Dinua retorted. "I'd rather charge head-long into battle with a pacifist. At least I know where a pacifist would stand. Third target from the right!"

Doran swiveled the barrel of his rifle in the near pitch darkness, trying to remember just how far the target was. He fired and was rewarded with a satisfying clink of another metal can meeting its demise. "Come on, they can fight. They're smart."

"Did I mention I like to avoid the drama that comes with people like them? Fifth target on the left!" Dinua walked behind Doran's prone form. "I would thank you very much if you don't drag me into their messes too."

"But what if I get myself killed going up against those big bad and scary Mandos that want to hurt them? Isn't that bad for your 'I can do everything by myself' Mando image?"

"Here's a solution, don't get involved. Find smarter friends."

"Too late."

"You still have a dozen targets to go, _dar'manda_, then we switch to the moving ones."

"You _are_ considering helping me, aren't you?"

"_Copaani mirshmure'cye, dikut_?" Dinua murmured darkly.

"What? I mean I heard Jintar say that, what does it mean?"

"Do you like your face in its current arrangement?"

"Very much so." Doran gulped, getting the point and proceeding to take out another target.

A silence built between them, interrupted by Dinua barking out a target and Doran hitting it. Finally, the last of the stationary targets was in little pieces on the floor. Dinua glanced down at Doran. "Fine. I'll help."

"You will?"

"_Dikut_," Dinua glared.

"Oh, okay. Sorry. Thank you very much!"

"Only to save your shebs though. I couldn't care less about those other two."

"I'm touched."

"I reserve the right to change my mind."

"I reserve the right to be a pain in your shebs to get you to reconsider changing your mind after you've changed your mind."

Dinua just glared at Doran. "And I reserve the right to shoot you."

"Good, so long as we know our rights then," Doran replied cheekily.

At that, Dinua smiled a small, faint smile, promptly turning away from Doran. "Get back to work. If you miss any of the moving targets all bets are off."

**FtF(V)FtF**

"I can't believe he actually did it," Doran murmured, watching as Tracyn entered the darkened hangar. The blond-haired teen looked curious and relaxed, as if she was simply going to meet a friend. She was dressed in the same coarse cotton clothing that most of the Mandos wore in their down-time. Didn't even appear to be armed either. "He didn't even warn her."

"Be quiet and let things unfold."

They were hiding on top of a pile of cargo crates stacked up against the wall. Supplies stuffed in crates made up the entire length of the medium-sized hangar's far wall. The Mandalorians were not exactly the most efficient of house-keepers Doran surmised, rubbing his hands over his arms to stay warm in the drafty room.

The hangar was at the bottom of the floating training structure; two parked assault speeders were lined up side by side, and a shuttle sat atop a hatch; ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. The only lights in the room flickered on upon Tracyn's arrival, making her a sitting duck for any would-be assailant.

"Skirata? You here yet?" Tracyn called out, receiving only her echo in reply. She smiled faintly and began walking over to one of the speeders. "Guess not."

The heavy metal doors to the hangar slid shut with an audible bang.

"Figures you'd be late," Tracyn looked over her shoulder in dry amusement.

"Sorry about that," Jintar matched her smile as he entered the room with a picnic basket. "Had a bit of trouble getting the chefs to make some uj cake."

"What's the occasion?" Tracyn canted her head slightly.

"Getting rid of a few thorns in my side," Jintar replied cryptically. He tossed Tracyn the blanket he had brought, and with a raised eyebrow, the petite Mandalorian girl began spreading it out.

"O…kay," Tracyn smiled. "This isn't like a date or anything, Skirata, right?"

"Nah, just a meal between friends. Or between the peon and his squad-leader celebrating today's victory."

"Peon, right," Tracyn tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "You going to tell me what this is really about?"

"Trust me?"

At that, Tracyn's eyebrows rose slightly, her blue eyes narrowing. "Why do I get the feeling I'm a _vhe'viin _being used to bait a strill?"

"You're much cuter than a _vhe'viin_," Jintar popped open a drink can and tossed another one to Tracyn.

"Jintar."

The ramp to the shuttle choose that moment to hiss open. Tracyn glanced sharply to Jintar, before looking over her shoulder.

"You're a Mando of your word, Skirata." A group of four Mandalorians, all in their late teens or early twenties by Doran's estimate, emerged. They weren't exactly dressed in Mandalorian armor, but the thick durasteel plates and crushgaunts they wore showed they were ready for a fight. "You do your clan proud."

"We Skirata mean what we say, Ordo."

"So you've proven. You can leave now, unless you want to stick around for the fun?"

Tracyn 's eyes darted back and forth between Jintar and the new arrivals. From his hiding place, Doran could see that all four Mandalorians had the same clan-markings tattooed on their impressive biceps, meaning that all were from Clan Ordo; the clan that had cornered Jintar earlier. He shifted, meaning to intervene, but Dinua placed a restraining hand on his shoulder and shook her head.

In the meantime, Tracyn warily stood. Unarmed and clad in a simple cloth tunic, the petite teen didn't appear remotely threatening to anyone.

"Notice I didn't deny the comparison to a strill?" Jintar said to her, casually standing and making his way to the door.

"Yeah." Tracyn swallowed, eyeing the Ordo Mandalorians. "Thanks a lot."

"Well, Skirata, you staying or leaving?"

Jintar leaned against the door to the hangar and folded his arms in front of his chest, his face betraying nothing. "She's _Kyr'tsad_, right? Do what you want."

Tracyn's eyes widened and she spun back to her friend. "Jintar!"

She heard the sound of footsteps behind her, but before she could raise her arms to defend herself, a crushgaunt-augmented fist slammed into her mid-section and sent her sprawling. Gasping for air, she coughed up blood, once again looking in Jintar's direction.

"Nice one," Was all Jintar said. "You sure _Mand'alor _will be okay with this?"

"Doesn't even have to know," the leader of the quartet chuckled, grabbing Tracyn by her hair and pulling her to her feet. "For all we care, she tripped and fell down a flight of stairs. Like I told you earlier, Skirata. We're doing him a favor."

Jintar shrugged. "If you say so."

Then, unexpectedly, he pounded the metal door behind him. "Was that enough, Lok?"

The door slid open and to Doran's surprise, his least favorite Mandalorian, Kote Lok, stood there with five of his own buddies. They were likewise in durasteel armor, and armed with stun batons.

"Definitely. Commander Beviin will have their heads for this, betraying the _Resolnare_ and acting against _Mand'alor_'s orders to leave the _Kyr'tsad_ unscathed. There's no denying that _Kyrtsadika_'s blood has been spilt. Clan Lok will be honored for stopping these _dikutlase._"

"Kote!"

"Bralov," Kote said smugly.

Bralov whirled to Jintar, throwing Tracyn back to the floor. "Skirata! You _aruetyc_ bas…."

"Now, now, there's a woman present," Jintar cut him off.

"Doesn't make you any less of a bastard," Tracyn muttered loudly, holding herself in a fetal position and gasping for air.

"Skirata, when we're done with these _duse_, you're next!"

"Oh, good, so long as I'm after them," Jintar stepped out of the way as Kote and _his_ friends stepped in. "Have fun, Kote."

"Shut up, Skirata," Kote cracked his knuckles. "This doesn't make you any less of a reject. But you're at least a reject who knows what it means to be a Mando."

"That means a lot coming from you, Kote. Really."

"Do you want me to punch you first?"

"Oh, no," Jintar held up his hands. "By all means, show Ordo that Lok's the superior clan."

"Thanks for the permission, I intend to."

"You mean you'll try," Bralov growled.

What followed next was something Doran had seen only once inside of a cantina during a particularly brutal bar brawl. Fueled by Mandalorian honor and their hormones, the two sides proceeded to pummel each other left and right. One of Kote's friends was bodily lifted up and thrown into a pile of cargo crates, sending the crates scattering everyone. One of the Ordo boys was double teamed and slammed into one of the assault speeders, leaving a person-sized dent in the hull. A stun baton crackled and was jammed into the armpit of an Ordo, dropping the mass of muscle with thousands of volts of electricity. A crushgaunt cold-clocked a Lok.

Doran watched it all in disbelief, barely able to blink as both Lok and Ordo effectively took each other out. There may have been more of Kote and his friends, but the Ordos weren't going down without a fight.

Eventually, it came down to Bralov and Kote. The rest of Clan Lok was on the ground, unconscious with skull fractures, or with multiple broken bones and battered internal organs. The other three members of Ordo were also down; one with a stun-baton jammed between his armor and his body, ensuring a continuous paralyzing current.

Bralov had a bloodied nose, Kote a split lip. The two squared off, Kote's stun-baton jabbing forward only to be caught by Bralov's crushgaunt and snapped into pieces. Kote retaliated by jamming his elbow into the elbow-joint of Bralov, rendering the crushgaunt-connected arm useless. As they grappled on the ground, Bralov began to gain the upper-hand.

Then someone cleared their throat quite loudly. Both Mandalorians looked up to see Tracyn standing over them. The front of her shirt was stained with her blood, but that wasn't what they focused on. She had put on a metal boot, borrowed from one of the combatants and was very clearly not afraid to use it.

"_Su'cuy gar_, _or'hut'uun_." Tracyn said viciously. Shortly before driving her weighted foot into Bralov's face. The older Mandalorian promptly lost consciousness, and his life was probably only saved by the fact that Tracyn was as svelte as she was.

"Well," Kote pushed Bralov's unconscious form off of him. "That went…"

"Hey Kote," Jintar spoke, finishing off a fruit that had been in the picnic basket he had brought.

"Wha…" Jintar drove his own foot into Kote's face, rendering the Clan Lok member unconscious as well.

"He's not going to be happy when he wakes up," Tracyn said glibly, before doubling over and coughing up blood again. "Damn it, did you really have to let him hit me like that?"

"I didn't know they had crushgaunts."

"Fine excuse when I start coughing up a lung or something," Tracyn breathed, tears in her eyes from the pain.

"I'll get you to the med-bay in a moment," Jintar knelt by Bralov and placed one of Kote's gloved hands over Bralov's mouth and nose.

"What are you doing?" Tracyn breathed, weakly looking towards Jintar.

"Like I said, I'm removing thorns in my side." Jintar muttered. "My uncles actually approved of the plan by the way."

"Your crazy, homicidal, cloned ex-soldiers, uncles?"

"Yeah, those guys," Jintar displayed no emotion as Bralov's chest ceased moving up and down. He moved Kote's hand back down and then stood up. "Said that as long as Bralov lived, he'd be a threat to _Mand'alor. _As long as Kote was on this station, he'd keep finding ways to cross me, might actually get lucky and do something permanent. They'll be the first to admit that they're not saints, but they _will_ do whatever is necessary to protect their friends and family. Come on, _Kyr'tsadika_, let's get you out of here."

"You know, for a moment, I thought…."

"That I'd actually tossed you to the Rancor?"

"Yeah," Tracyn murmured, slumping against him tiredly.

The door slid open again, and both Tracyn and Jintar disappeared into the corridor. When the door closed, Doran could only continue to gape at the mass of injured and one dead Mandalorian on the ground.

"Clever," Dinua said approvingly, her own eyes locked on the close door as if she was re-evaluating Jintar.

"Did he just kill…"

"No," Dinua shook her head. "Bralov and Kote got into a fight, Kote got a bit too enthusiastic and ended Bralov's life."

"But you saw…"

"I saw nothing," Dinua answered dryly. "Remember, I didn't even want to be here in the first place."

"But he…"

"Did his clan proud."

"That look on his face. It wasn't the first time he took a life."

"Probably won't be the last."

"And you're okay with it?"

"Dar'manda. The galaxy is a dark and cruel place that changes people who get to know its true nature. I'm sure on your adventures you've already seen some of the darker aspects of life. We Mandalorians tread in that gray boundary. You could say we police it. Empire, New Republic, Yuuzhan Vong, we take the side that serves us best. Allying not because we believe what they are fighting for, but because their belief in those ideals are so poor they need someone else to fight their battles for them. We can be compassionate, but we can also be merciless. We are a tool, but we are also a double-edged sword. We both help our homeworld, and weaken it at the same time. That is what it means to be a Mandalorian. At least that is what my mother told me before she started her never-ending march."

"Did you know that Jintar would do what he did?"

"No," Dinua shook her head. "But I also knew he wouldn't betray Tracyn. He can be annoyingly loyal at times, a trait he gets from that clan of his. Most of all, though, I know he is a Mandalorian. He would do what is necessary."

"Not what is right?"

Dinua eyed Doran calmly. "Depending on your definition of right, they are rarely the same things."

**FtF(VI)FtF **

_Hi mom. Day three ended about an hour ago, but I couldn't sleep. Not when I have so many thoughts bouncing around my head. I'd like to begin by saying that the friends I've made are completely…well…out of their minds would be one way to put it. They follow this Mandalorian Code like you told me the Jedi follow their own code, to a fault. Anyone that doesn't go along with it gets the evil-eye and are often offed. At least that's the one difference between the Mandos and Jedi. If a Jedi stops following the Jedi code, the rest of the order has an intervention and tries to convince the heretic to conform. Over here, if a Mando leaves the code, they're going to get killed by another Mando, probably even one from his or her clan. But of course, like the Jedi Order, the Mandalorians I've met all seem to have different interpretations of their code._

_Dinua's still Dinua, the ultimate Mando-warrior girl. She's trying to drill it into my head that the rest of the galaxy doesn't run on Jedi-power. Didn't exactly appreciate it when I told her the Force was in every living thing and technically __did__ run on Jedi power. She's a harsh teacher, but really knows her stuff. I'm still trying to figure out why she has that aura of sadness hidden behind that 'super soldier' face she wears every day._

_Speaking of discovering things…both Tracyn and Jintar continue to surprise me. Just when I thought I had this Mando-honor stuff figured out, they throw me a curved ball. My Verd'goten is in two more days, but Jintar managed to frame my initial opponent for murder and got him kicked off the station. I have no idea who I'm facing now, but whoever it is, I have to be impressive enough to be considered an adult. I don't know if I'll ever get the core of being a Mando, but I'm definitely having one heck of an adventure over here._

_It's late right now, so I'll record another holo-message later. Hope you and dad are okay. _

_Signing off,_

_ Doran Sarkin Tainer_

**FtF(Chapter End)FtF**

A\n: Well…two more chapters in this story arc left! Hope you're enjoying it so far. When chapter five is up, that's it for this story for a while until the muse lets me write another story arc. Next chapter next week.


	4. Forging Enemies

**Chapter 4: Forging Enemies**

**FtF(I)FtF**

Day four on the space-station couldn't possibly be any more surprising than the previous three days, or so Doran thought. Once again waking up just as the sun's rays began to shine through the portholes of the bunk-room, Doran automatically went through his morning routine along with the dozen other Mando-in-training he shared a room with. It was hard to believe that it was only his fourth day onboard the Mandalorian training facility after everything that had gone on the past few days.

His muscles still ached from the countless hours of training, his body barely obeying his commands. His mind spun itself in circles as it tried to process everything. From everything that had happened last night to everything that was in store for him tomorrow, it felt as if he was fast losing whatever sense of calm he had started with. And given his relatively laid back nature, that was saying something. With his passage into manhood Mando-initiation only a day away, however, Doran sincerely doubted Dinua would go easy on him.

Splashing water onto his face, he gave passing nods to the other initiates sharing the refresher with him. Having hung out with Tracyn, Jintar, or Dinua since his arrival, he really had no idea who they were. Then again, almost everyone else in his bunk-room was at least a decade older than his young thirteen years of age. Heck, he wasn't even shaving yet and had an awkward moment on his first day when some asked if they could borrow his shaving cream.

And the refresher wasn't reserved for the male gender either.

Doran remembered how red his face had become on the first day when he realized the showers were shared by all, regardless of their species or gender. _That_ had been something he needed to get used to. As he washed his face, he studiously focused on himself and not on the rows of occupied shower stalls behind him; and the less self-conscious female warriors-in-training who dressed without caring who saw.

Though the sun was just rising, the others appeared to have similar taskmasters for their trainers and the washroom was packed. Though a few smiles and greetings were shared, the professional aura in the refresher kept everything flowing with military efficiency.

Doran made his quick exit back to his bunk, pulling on his boots and weighted ankle and wrist-bands. Slinging on a loose vest, he smiled faintly at one of the few other teenagers in his cohort. He didn't know her name, but he had seen her on occasion. Mostly it was just before he passed out in his bunk from exhaustion. Though her black hair, interspersed with blue highlights, made her stand out, it was the fact that she was slapping on Mandalorian armored gauntlets that caught Doran's attention.

"Are you allowed to wear those?" Doran voiced in surprise.

The teen looked up, surprised. "They're my mom's. I wear them to honor her."

"Oh, I just haven't seen pink Mandalorian armor before," Doran blinked.

"You have a problem with that?"

Hearing the warning in her voice, and wondering if there was something about himself that made every single Mando want to kill him at first meeting, Doran quickly held up his hands. "No, no problem at all."

"I was just messing with you _ad._" She rolled her eyes. "The name's Wren, Hera Wren. Nice that we can finally talk. Every time I've seen you, you're doing your best dead Hutt impression."

"Gee, thanks," Doran blushed. "The name's Doran, Doran Sarkin-Tainer."

"Sarkin-Tainer? Oh! You're that Jedi kid Uncle Bridger told me to look for."

"Keep it down," Doran hissed. Then blinked. "Wait, what?"

"My parents were part of the Rebel Alliance," Hera smirked, patting Doran on the shoulder reassuringly and showing the emblem emblazoned on her shoulder pad. "They know people who know people. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. So, who'd you get for your trainer?"

"Dinua Jeban."

"Really, but I guess it makes sense given how you got into this place."

"Yeah, you?"

"Me?" Hera looked abashed and stopped strapping her boots up. "I _am_ a trainer. Already got my Protector status."

"What!" Now Doran felt even more foolish. "Errr…but you're sleeping here…Dinua has her own room."

"I like being around the group I train," Hera replied with a shrug. "Kind of reminds me of my childhood with my very weird family. Besides," she held up her arms with her custom-painted gauntlets. "Clan Wren has always been known to buck tradition. And my squad will work better if they have a commander they know and trust. Jeban has her own training methods, I'm sure. But the cool woman I was named after likes this style better, and so do I."

"How many people are you training?" Doran checked the clock on the wall. He still had a few minutes to chat, a rarity given how busy he had been.

"Five," Hera replied. She gestured back to the refresher. "All older than me if you're wondering. But age doesn't trump experience. My mom was teaching me how to strap together a det-pack since I was old enough to say det-pack. The rest of her crew also taught me a few tricks here and there. We Mandos are an eclectic bunch who will take our lessons from anyone willing to teach."

"I'm fast learning that," Doran laughed.

"What's on your schedule today?"

"Training for my _verd'goten_ I think," Doran scratched his head. "But the guy I'm going up against got himself kicked off this facility yesterday."

"Lok?"

"Him."

"Hmmm, I wonder who you'll have next." They looked up to see a group of young adults approaching Hera. "Oh, my squad's here."

It was hard to miss them. Each were wearing custom-painted armor sets, about as unique as can be in design and color.

"Very eclectic," Doran smiled.

Hera straightened and flipped a two-finger salute at Doran. "You got it. See you around the galaxy, kid. Good luck with your _Verd'goten._"

"Thanks," Doran released a breath as Hera led her team out of sight into the hallway.

As they left, Tracyn entered. "Good, you're up. Let's get some breakfast."

"I have to train," Doran said, walking towards the pint-sized blond. "Running on a full stomach doesn't really work with me."

"You're a baby-Wookie in disguise and, quite unfairly, still growing. You need to eat. Besides, Dinua won't be training you today."

"Huh? Why not?"

"She volunteered to be the tester for your _Verd'goten_."

Doran stopped in his tracks. "What!"

"That was my reaction too," Tracyn laughed. "I talked with her about it but she wouldn't tell me a thing."

"Great," Doran groaned.

"That's why you'll be taking it easy today. Skirata and myself got permission to take a leisure day and hang out with you. We can spar if you want, but otherwise trust in what you've learned and in your own body."

At the mention of Jintar's name, Doran's mind flashed back to the previous night. He was of mixed feelings about his new friend. On one hand, he felt as if he should apologize to Jintar for thinking the worst. On the other hand, he had seen Jintar murder a defenseless person all to 'clean house' and solve another problem. He was once again reminded how much difference three years of life experience could create.

He must have been silent for a moment too long, because Tracyn's expression became worried. "Doran, are you okay?"

"Err...what? Yeah, I'm fine."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Doran tried to smile convincingly.

"Right," Tracyn said slowly. "Try not to worry. Just because Dinua's your tester doesn't mean you won't pass. In fact, if I'm reading her right, she wants to leave little doubt that you're ready to become an adult in Mando circles."

"That's not what I was thinking about, but thanks."

"You didn't get that face until…until I mentioned Jintar." Doran could practically see Tracyn's mind put the pieces together. "Did you know what he was going to do last night?"

Doran tried to find the words, and an apology for not warning Tracyn was on the tip of his tongue, but nothing came out. Not that he needed to say anything anyways.

"You knew," Tracyn said softly, blue eyes soft and knowing. She saw him flinch slightly and her eyes grew round. "You not only knew…you were there."

"And here I thought I was the mind-reader," Doran said faintly. "I didn't know he was going to call in Lok though. I thought…"

"Thought he was going to betray me, the _Kyr'tsadika_," Tracyn murmured, hugging herself with one arm.

"Yeah."

"You were there to stop him?"

"With Dinua. Though she didn't want me to intervene. Some stupid Mandalorian honor thing."

"Thanks," Tracyn smiled gently. Standing on her toes, she planted a quick kiss on Doran's cheek. "It's good to know I have friends like you , Jeban, and Skirata watching my back."

Doran saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eyes, shaking him from the shock he felt from the brief kiss. Dinua was in the doorway of the room, watching impassively.

Tracyn followed his distracted gaze. "Jeban."

"Gedyc," Dinua inclined her head briefly. "You and Skirata _will_ make sure he passes the _Verd'goten_?"

"We'll make sure he kicks your shebs." Tracyn replied with a slight smile.

A predatory glint appeared in Dinua's eyes as she focused on Doran. "Really?

For Doran, he suddenly understood what it truly meant to be a target. Swallowing, he tried to grin gamely, and failed miserably. There was something lethal about the molten brown gaze being directed at him. "Maybe?"

Dinua rolled her eyes dismissively. "I wish you luck then, _Kyr'tsadika_. This _di'kut_ is either going to embarrass us to death or...well…embarrass us to death is probably the more likely outcome."

"Hey, at least I have options," Doran said, finding his voice.

The dark-haired Mandalorian warrior just let out a sigh, her gaze briefly darting to the proximity of Tracyn and Doran. With a biting tone Doran hadn't heard before, Dinua remarked. "In more ways than one, _dar'manda._ We'll see if you really have the _mandokar_ tomorrow."

"Hey Dinua," Tracyn said before the taller woman could step away. She then rattled off a string of Mando'a that Doran couldn't keep up with.

Dinua raised an eyebrow, but inclined her head briefly.

"Really?" Tracyn seemed taken aback.

"You offered."

"I didn't know you'd accept. You always turned me down before."

"That was then," Dinua's hawkish dark eyes flicked toward Doran.

"Alright then, see you there."

Dinua left.

Doran groaned.

Tracyn giggled.

"I don't stand a chance. Forget surviving, she'll probably wipe the floor with me several times over."

"You're a lot better than you give yourself credit for," Tracyn said encouragingly, she took his hand and began to tug him towards the door. "Come on."

"I don't think I'm in any mood to train."

Tracyn looked at him pityingly. "We're not going to train. We Mandos do more than work on how to kill living things."

Doran ran a hand through his hair. His tired mind and body trying to kick in to second gear. "What then?"

"We're going down to the spaceport. Get you away from all this Mandalorian business."

"But my _verd'goten_ is tomorrow."

"Will training one more day make any difference? We can do some light jogging and stretching if it'll make you feel better. But if you haven't got the skills now, another day of training is not going to make any difference. Besides I'd bet you all of my non-existent credits that your muscles are as sore as _dar'yaim_ and will fall apart if they have another day of intensive training."

"Here's all of _my_ non-existent credits," Doran replied dryly. "You win that bet."

"Great."

"You said we, so is it just us two, or…"

Tracyn flashed him a shy grin. "Nah, I invited my squad out too. So Jintar's coming along. Let us show you how us true Mandos have a good time."

"Should I bring anything?"

"You have any party clothes?"

"When was the last time you saw a Jedi party?"

"Good point," Tracyn grimaced. "Well, I guess that's one thing on our list of things to do."

"We're on a Mando-training camp planet full of dangerous jungles, freezing tundras and all manner of people wanted by various governments. You mean to tell me there's a clothing boutique on Gargon too?"

"Of course," Tracyn's nose wrinkled. "All those wanted people need to get dressed too. Haven't you always wondered why the bad guys have better dress-sense than the good guys? They know exactly where to get their clothing."

"You are _not_ taking me shopping." Doran blushed red.

"I hear a new shipment of training weights just arrived. I'm sure I can convince the base commander to spare some for the Death Watch training room."

"When did you get to be so evil?"

Tracyn shoved him playfully. "Hang around me enough, _dar'manda_ and you'll find I'm full of surprises. Besides, Jeban's coming."

"Huh?" Doran did a double-take, wondering if Tracyn was joking.

"I invited her." Tracyn said earnestly.

"That Mandalorian speak earlier?"

"You didn't use your Jedi powers to understand that?"

"Haven't used my Jedi abilities since promising Beviin I wouldn't. Mom and dad taught me that my word isn't something I should just give lightly."

"Well, I invited her. Every week my squad goes down to the spaceport to blow off some steam. Our trainer Suvar Detta and his brother Cham, let us do it so long as we don't run afoul with the locals. I've always invited Jeban along, but she's always refused."

"Wonder what changed her mind."

Tracyn just shook her head with a mysterious smile that all teenage girls her age seem to master. "Don't worry about it, _di'kut_. Just be glad she's coming. I don't think she's socialized with _anyone_ since she got to this station. Should be nice to see her let her hair down so to speak."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you 'let your hair down'?"

Tracyn stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek again. "You'll just have to come with my squad and find out."

**FtF(II)FtF**

Despite his words to Tracyn, Doran had been to various 'parties' during his adventures with his mom. They just didn't necessarily have the same dress-code. The parties ranged from dreadfully boring to utterly bewildering and amazingly fun. He had danced around campfires, participated in lavish feasts-often hosted by corrupt politicians his mom helped take down—and resplendent galas, and attended his dad's squad's festivities. Given the Wraith's reputation, some were pretty far out there. When visiting an enclave of Force-users, he had even participated in a complicated mental party that took place on a mental plane of existence. So between tribal groups, military parties, school-parties, birthday parties, and Force-user parties, Doran was pretty sure he was ready for anything.

And yet he still wondered how a group of Mandalorian Protectors-in-training in their late teens to early twenties 'partied'. A part of him was also excited about the prospect of hanging out with the 'older' crowd, and not having a parental chaperone. Having his mom around was nice and all, but since he was thirteen going on fourteen, an ever present mom did limit his choice of activities.

"Relax," Tracyn nudged him playfully as she piloted their planetary shuttle over the gravel quarry. Meant only for sub-orbital transportation, it seated all of Tracyn's squad plus Dinua and Doran. Looking at Tracyn didn't relax him one bit.

They were all dressed to party. And for Tracyn that meant the normally reserved, petite Mandalorian teen was wearing a black tank-top covered with a fishnet shirt that showed off her stomach. A stylish leather belt accented a flared black skirt, knee-high boots with metal buckles, and fishnet leggings. The black and purple theme contrasted nicely with her blond hair and blue eyes, but was definitely not the version of 'Tracyn' Doran had come to know.

Then again, he reflected, he had only known her for four days.

Tracyn offered him a sympathetic smile. "Besides, you met them, my squad likes you. That's saying something considering most of them hate me like I was the worst human to ever live."

"Your squad is all human," Doran said.

"Complicated political stuff," Tracyn answered flatly, showing her enjoyment of such things. "I told you before, right? I was made squad leader to appease my 'loyal' _Kyr'tsad _followers. Being handed a command and actually being a respected commander is two different things though. Most of the squad only follow me because I'm their ticket to getting into the _Ori'ramikade_. They show they can't follow orders and they're out. Consequentially, most of them are from middle to high-status clans. Meaning all are Manda'yaim born and bred."

"I'm still amazed how you can put up with all of that on a daily basis and still hold out hope that your people can change."

"They're not my people…yet," Tracyn answered softly. "Until all of Manda'yaim wakes up and realize how degraded we _Mando'ade_ have become, they're just mercenaries in _beskar'gam._ We have the potential to be an empire, but we're content with being hired help. It's maddening in many ways, but I'm not going to give up my dream of seeing a Mandalorian Empire reborn. Not when my parents, my grandparents, and the thousands of_ Kyr'tsad_ who died fighting for that dream endured far worse than me."

"You do realize that if your dream comes true that'd mean a bunch of dead Jedi."

"Only if they oppose us," Tracyn shrugged. "Just because historically Jedi and Mandalorian are enemies doesn't mean it has to continue to be that way. Jedi arrogance is one of the reasons why we Mandos despise them. I mean, if _we_ tried to declare ourselves guardians of the galaxy, practically everyone would start shooting at us, Jedi included."

"Mandalorians would have declared themselves 'guardians of the galaxy' at gun-point. And people respect the Jedi, they don't respect the Mandalorians unless one is shoving a blaster in their face."

Tracyn rolled her eyes. "Way to stereotype, _dar'manda_. It's Vizsla who believes in the whole gun-point diplomacy. I prefer to let our actions speak for themselves, and right now our actions aren't saying a whole lot about our people. Selling out a galaxy, that's a new low. If the Mandalorians _were_ the Mandalorians I want them to be, we'd be fighting alongside the New Republic and blasting the shebs out of the Vong. We let the New Republic know we're a force to be reckoned with, one that can carve out our own niche in this galaxy, and then we can start talking about respect."

"Feel strongly about that huh?"

Tracyn trailed off, blushing slightly and looking away. "Sorry, but it's kind of my life's goal I guess. I was born with my grandparents' advisors all telling me that I'm the last hope for the Mandalorian Empire reborn. They all think Vizsla is doomed to fail with her brute-force approach, and don't even get them started on the other _Kyr'tsad_ factions."

"Hey tone the Death Watch _duse_ down up there, sir!" One of Tracyn's subordinates called out. "You forget you're only here because _Mand'alor_ himself said you could be here."

"Yeah, you guys finally have a leader with half a brain," Tracyn called back. "It's a shame he's using that brain to sell out everyone who isn't wearing Mando colors."

"If they aren't Mando, we shouldn't care about them," another voice sounded.

"And I've told you before. If we and the _Vongese_ are the only ones left in this galaxy, do you truly think they wouldn't turn on _us_?"

"Unlike some people, we trust in _Mand'alor_. Our clans did select him as leader after all."

"_Your_ clans maybe," Tracyn huffed so that only Doran could hear. From the tone of her voice, he could tell that it was a time-worn argument.

"And this is before you've let your hair down," Doran commented slyly.

Tracyn gave him a small shove. "Shut it. Quit bringing out the mean-side of me, _dar'manda_. It's not healthy for someone my size. Besides, this is supposed to be a party to celebrate your impending entrance into adulthood."

"Shouldn't we celebrate after I enter adulthood. Counting eggs and all."

"I like to think positive," Tracyn laughed. "Besides, you fail and Jeban, Skirata, and I will all look incompetent and will probably be kicked off the station."

"Really?"

"Well, me and Skirata probably. Jeban not so much. She'll just beat you to a pulp for blowing her chances to be _Ori'ramikade_."

"So…no pressure."

"No pressure," Tracyn patted his arm.

"You know me well," Dinua spoke up, squeezing her way into the cockpit.

"Well it was either that or ritual suicide," Tracyn said flatly. "You pure-bred Mandos are kind of black and white like that. Either your enemy dies or you die."

"What brings you up here?" Doran asked amicably. He did a brief double-take, not sure to be relieved or disappointed that Dinua's outfit consisted of a modest halter-top and a form-fitting denim bottom.

"Gedyc's squad was boring me," Dinua replied blandly, resting her forearms on the back of Doran's chair. "None of them have a chance of making it into the _Or'ramikade, _much less the Protectors."

"So no need to socialize with them, right?" Doran answered.

Dinua just tilted her head a fraction of an inch in affirmative.

"And what about us two? Are we Or'ram…wait how do you pronounce it? Both you and Tracyn say it differently."

"She's country-Mando who's been off-planet a lot, I'm a city-girl who grew up in a city just south of Keldabe," Tracyn gestured. "We city-Mandos like to pronounce all our vowels. Makes us sound more educated. _Or'ramikade, Ori'ramikade_, any Mando will understand either one."

"Right, are we Or'whatever material?"

Dinua exhaled slowly. "_Dar'manda_. Stop talking."

"Got it."

The shuttle made the short trip in good time, and soon it was coasting on an approach vector to one of Gargon's several starports. On the way over, Doran noticed several odd purple and orange structures plopped down in the rocky wasteland. He didn't recall them being there earlier and pointed them out to Tracyn.

"Those have to be the _Vongese _attaché Quito warned us about," Dinua murmured.

"Huh?" Tracyn looked over her shoulder. "The _Vongese _are coming here?"

"Rumor has it that they were most displeased with the Mando's lack of progress." Doran nodded. "I mean, if they're allied against the New Republic, they haven't really done much."

"Ever meet a _Vongese_ before?" Tracyn looked to the other two.

Doran shook his head, but Dinua didn't respond, her expression completely devoid of emotion as dark brown eyes stared stonily at the coral structures below.

"Dinua?" Doran asked softly, getting unintentional flashes of emotion through the Force. Chief among them was a silent rage that made him glad it wasn't directed at him.

"No, I've never met a _Vongese_ before," Dinua replied in clipped tones.

Though Dinua wasn't lying, Doran suddenly had an image of Dinua staring down a sniper's scope at one of the extra-galactic invaders. He blinked, shaking it off. "Well, we'll probably see them when they finally grace the academy with their presence. No rush, right?"

"No rush," Dinua repeated robotically.

The shuttle finally began its descent into a landing bay, the members of Tracyn's squad off-boarding quickly.

"Hey, Skirata, hold up a minute," Tracyn called out.

"Cabur and I were going to order our usual," Jintar said, stopping at the end of the ramp with another Mando.

"He can do that without you. We need to take the _dikut _here on a shopping trip. He can't go to Club _Aay'han _dressed like he is."

Jintar glanced at Doran's all-purpose day-clothes. "I see your point. Okay Cabur, go ahead and get our table set up. I need to make sure the kid actually looks the role of tough-as-nails Mando on leave."

The rest of Tracyn's squad hustled away without another glance at their leader.

"Ummm…my mom didn't exactly give me a clothing budget."

"It's why she invited Skirata," Dinua said blandly. "His family's loaded."

Doran's eyebrows rose. "You said your dad and uncles served. Soldiers' pension?"

"Something like that," Jintar chuckled. "Don't worry about it, _dikut_. What's a few credits between friends."

After being repeatedly told not to worry, for some reason, Doran couldn't help but do just that.

**FtF(III)FtF**

Doran had learned long ago that a Jedi could never do anything simple without it turning into a galactic-sized problem. Jedi were just unfortunate like that.

Walking to a turbolift, a Jedi was more likely than most to be ambushed by gun-wielding thugs.

Walking down the street, something was sure to blow up somewhere in their vicinity, requiring them to throw out their daily agenda.

Or it could be as simple as trying on new clothes….

"_Infidel! You dare make me use your toneless tongue!"_

"P...p…please, I can bring a translator droid over to…"

"_You further insult me!"_

"No…no...I didn't mean…"

Doran heard this exchange with one foot caught in the pants leg of the latest pants Tracyn had thrown over the dressing room door.

_Talk about getting caught with one's pants down,_ Doran groaned. On one hand, he knew it was probably smarter to ignore the exchange outside. On the other, he was a Jedi and had a very bad feeling that the clerk's life was at risk.

"Don't even think about it," Jintar sighed in exasperation on the other side of the door. "It's not our business."

"If the clerk gets killed, how do we pay for the clothes?" Doran pointed out, hurrying to put on the rest of his clothes.

"You have the strangest reasons ever."

Doran pushed open the dressing room door and saw his three Mandalorian friends roll their eyes at him.

"Really? It's just a black-market lackey who probably has a rap-sheet as long as my arms," Jintar said.

"Your shirt's inside out," Tracyn supplied, lightly digging her elbow into Jintar's side.

"You're going to intervene because it's a Jedi thing, aren't you," Dinua said, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

"Nah," Doran shook his head, leaving the dressing room. He smiled over his shoulder. "Because it's the right thing to do."

He made his way around the stacks of crates and rows of clothing towards the front. Once there, he got his first good look at a Yuuzhan Vong.

There were three of them. All with yellowish-gray skin, sloping foreheads, and spiky armor that almost appeared to be embedded into their muscular, very scarred forms. The leader of the trio appeared to have an animal claw for a right hand and had his left hand holding a snake-like whip weapon that was now wrapped around the clerk's throat.

"Hey!" Doran called out, against his better judgment.

The three Yuuzhan Vong very calmly turned to the thirteen-year old human.

"Leave him alone," Doran gestured. "The guy's an idiot, true, but he doesn't deserve to die."

"There is no place for his idiocy in the great empire the Dread One is creating," snarled the lead Yuuzhan Vong. He twitched his hand and the unfortunate clerk ended up unfortunately dead. "You would do well to remember that, child."

Knowing he should have kept his mouth shut, Doran couldn't help but retort. "So this Dread One allows bullies who kill unarmed shop-keepers while backed up by two heavily armed buddies to be in his army? Some guy."

The Yuuzhan Vong narrowed his eyes. "Watch your tongue, human child. My amphistaff is hungry still."

"Yes," Jintar slung an arm around Doran's shoulders. "Watch your tongue. That guy's a great and fearsome Yuuzhan Vong. In nice fancy _armor_, with wicked looking _weapons_. This may be a black-market store but they don't sell _beskar'gam_."

Doran clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Apologize," the Yuuzhan Vong warrior sneered.

There was the sound of a blaster whining. Eyes darted to where Dinua had somehow produced a plasma pistol and was aiming it square between the Yuuzhan Vong's eyes. Jintar just hung his head and sighed as Dinua took another step forward."Don't push your luck. Unless of course, that skin of yours can stop a plasma bolt."

"_Yenagh doa Mandolori." _Muttered one of the Yuuzhan Vong's subordinates.

The leader of the trio stared hatefully at Dinua, but then turned around, snapping his amphistaff back into rigid form and sliding it into a holder on his back. "You live only by the grace of the _Yun'o_. If we cross paths again, I _will_ kill you."

"You can try," Dinua replied with icy calmness, her gun still extended.

"Male child, what is your name?"

"Doran, yours?"

"Gorak Lah, crèche-cousin of the Warmaster himself and given the honor of seeing to his newest allies."

"So…you're babysitting the Mandalorians?"

"Doran!" Tracyn and Jintar groaned in unison.

Gorak spun back around, murder in his eyes. Dinua, however, had yet to lower her blaster. With blood-red eyes glaring at the stoic Mandalorian teen, he backed down once more and left the shop in a huff.

Once he was gone, Doran took note of his friends. Despite her form-fitting outfit, Tracyn had somehow produced two jagged knives with blades as long as her forearms. Jintar had drawn a hold-out blaster and appeared to be covering up a wrist-mounted dart-launcher when Doran looked in his direction. And in addition to Dinua's plasma pistol, she also had a fragmentation grenade in her other hand.

"Mandalorians," Doran rolled his eyes as they casually put away their weapons.

"_Dikut_," the three of them said in unison.

"Well, as long as we're clear on that," Doran said with a faint, forced smile. His eyes darted towards the corpse of the cashier, and his stomach knotted. He had a feeling that this encounter wouldn't be the last he'd see of Gorak Lah.

**FtF(IV)FtF**

The music pulsated in the background, flashing lights and white smoke framed a plethora of writhing dancers, keeping the atmosphere chaotic and energy-filled. A horde of Mandalorians and ne'er-do-wells hovered around the well-stocked bar, coarse language seemingly a requirement in that side of the club. On the opposite side was a stage where 'exotic' dancers entertained the lonely spacers and soldiers-in-training. Watching the crowd of young adults dance to the primal beat blasting over the club's speakers from his position on a second-floor balcony table, Doran nursed his cup of blue-milk.

"This is what Mandalorians do to relax, huh?" He glanced across to an impassive Dinua.

"It's what _some_ of us do to relax," Dinua remarked, purple and blue hues from the club's strobe lights flashing across her face. She gestured to where Jintar and Tracyn were dancing with their squad. "Why don't you go join the others?"

"I could ask you the same," Doran raised an eyebrow. "I don't want to muck up their squad-dynamics, like my dad calls it. But you've known them longer than I have. Shouldn't _you_ be out there letting loose? Heck, you're even drinking blue-milk like me."

"I don't 'let loose,'" Dinua replied deadpan. "Besides, I need to keep my mind focused for tomorrow."

"Thanks for the reminder," Doran groaned.

"You have a better chance against me than you might think."

Doran blinked at that. "Are you trying to reassure me?"

Dinua blinked, her eyes darting back towards the dance floor. "No. I was simply stating a fact. Your parents trained you well, and your unorthodox thinking makes it harder for me to know just how you will attack."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Very. One of the things that make us Mandalorians so hard to kill is that our combat skills are an amalgamation of the skills of everyone we've let join our ranks. Rodian, Duro, Dug, Special Forces personnel of different planets, even the occasional Jedi-in-hiding. Though we all adhere to a single ethos, our methods of carrying out our way of life differ. You just happen to choose a peculiar and nonsensical path."

"The Jedi Masters always say there's more than one path to be a Jedi. Guess Mandalorians and Jedi have something in common."

"And there you go saying things like that," Dinua shook her head. "_Dar'manda_, have you figured out what you are if you are a Jedi who can't use the Force?"

"Haven't really had time to think about it," Doran admitted. "Between yesterday and Lok and the training, that sort of philosophy is the last thing on my mind. If I don't use the Force, how can I call myself a Jedi? Dozens of others do good without the Force and they aren't called Jedi. My dad's one of those people definitely. So if I don't use the Force, am I still a Jedi? Maybe, I don't know. Honestly, I really have no idea."

"Maybe I _will_ kick your shebse tomorrow."

"Hey, what?"

"The _Verd'goten_ is an establishment of identity, your place in Mandalorian society. How do you expect to let others know who you are if you yourself have no idea?"

"I'm just Doran," Doran shrugged. "What difference does it make anyways? It's not what you call yourself that matters, but what you do. Like the _Kyr'tsad_. They still call themselves Mandalorians but most of them act like Black Sun enforcers."

"Then what makes a Jedi a Jedi? Their actions? Their powers? Their philosophies? Stripped of the Force, can they still call themselves a Jedi? If they protect no one else but themselves, are they still Jedi? A Mandalorian knows who they are, even without their weapons, their gear, or a clan to call their own. The galaxy knows that a Mandalorian without any weapons or gadgets is still a Mandalorian. Can the same be said about Jedi?"

Doran took a long drink from his cup. "If you put it that way, I guess not. Like I said, without the Force, I'll probably just be Doran, a thirteen year-old kid who's in way over his head in a Mando training camp."

"Nope, you're still a _dar'manda_," Dinua shook her head. She cast another glance at Tracyn and her group, then turned her penetrating stare onto Doran. "Look, if you're not going to dance with Gedyc and the others, do you want to leave this place? We look pretty pathetic sitting here drinking milk and watching everyone else dance."

"Sure. You have a place in mind?"

"Just a walk around the starport. We have to take the same shuttle we came on back to base."

Doran shrugged one shoulder. "Okay. Lead the way."

The two slid out from around the table and left the crowded club, the pulsating music still hammering in Doran's ears several vendor stalls down.

"Mandos fight hard but party harder," Dinua said blandly, as they casually walked through the grimy hallway of the starport. "Though they _do_ have pretty good party food. If you ever get a chance, don't pass up the chance to try some _uj-_cake baked by Skirata's aunt."

"Not your scene?"

"Haven't been in a partying mood for a while," Dinua replied in a tone that showed she wasn't going to elaborate.

"Well, with the way the galaxy is going, it'll probably be the last time anyone will be in a partying mood," Doran tried.

"True," Dinua inclined her head slightly.

Again, without even meaning to, Doran felt a tinge of melancholy pain echo from Dinua. He snuck a glance at her face, but it was as emotionless as ever.

"Why do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"That," Doran gestured to her. "It's like you've locked yourself away in your head and are going through life on auto-pilot. Where's the fun, the things you do to make life worth living? You're only what, fifteen, sixteen? Tracyn's older than you by a year and she still finds time to relax."

"I'll have plenty of time to relax once I become _Or'ramikad_."

"Why?"

"Again with the questions, _dikut_. I'm starting to regret asking you to come along."

"I'm just trying to understand you better," Doran replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. "To the rest of the Mando training group, you're that untouchable queen, daughter of the base commander. Even Jintar and Tracyn keep you at a distance."

"Perhaps I prefer to remain alone."

"No one chooses to be alone," Doran countered.

"I do."

"Why?"

"Enough, _dar'manda_, I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Then answer me this and then I'll shut up, why did you want me to come out here with you?"

Dinua's answer was to pick up the pace, her gaze locked unseeingly on the path before them.

Doran let out an annoyed huff. "Fine! Be that way. Just wanted to let you know that trying to live your life for the sake of someone else really drains all the fun out of living."

Dinua turned around, brown eyes dark."What would you know about that?"

"My dad's a commando. My mom's a Jedi. That means everyone I know tends to be one or the other. What does that say about me? Am I going to become a commando when I grow up because of my dad? A Jedi because of my mom? A Jedi Commando because I'm overcompensating? One of the Republic-era Jedi my mom took me to said it best, we only have one shot in life, live your life how _you_ want to live it. Don't live another person's life because it's what's expected."

Dinua's expression softened slightly. "So you won't become a commando or Jedi? What _will_ you become?"

"Heck of I know," Doran said with a sheepish grin. "You're talking to the neophyte Jedi in a Mando training camp. I think my parents will be okay with any occupation besides Dark Lord of the Sith though"

"_Dikut_," Dinua rolled her eyes. "_Dar'manda._ You're trying to talk to me about who I'll become when you don't even know who you are right now."

"I know what I'm _not_." Doran shrugged. They entered an open-aired walkway that ran the circumference of the starport. "That should be good enough, right?"

Dinua didn't answer, the thoughts bouncing in her head were loud enough for Doran to pick up on even if he wasn't intentionally using the Force. He too opted to remain quiet, taking the time to take in the surroundings. After all, it wasn't every day one went on a stroll through a Mandalorian-controlled, scum-filled spaceport.

It was in his perusal of their surroundings that he noted several rough-looking individuals saunter towards them. Sensing nothing but trouble, Doran groaned. "What is it with you Mandos and trouble?"

"I was about to say the same thing, only replacing Mandos with Jedi," Dinua replied.

"Think these two are the ones?" One of the group of five said.

"Hafta be. Brown-haired girl, and giant human baby." Another, who's speech pattern indicated a few missing synapses, answered, scratching his head.

The leader of the group pulled out a very long vibroblade from the back of his pants. "Shut up you idiots. Look kids, no offense meant, but we were paid a great deal of credits to kill you. That scarred fellow even told us to record any screams of pain or pleas you might have."

"Yuuzhan Vong," Dinua said blandly.

"Huh?"

"The scarred coward who hired you, he's a Yuuzhan Vong."

"You know, extra-galactic alien seeking to destroy the New Republic? They only just brought down a moon onto Sernpidal," Doran added helpfully.

"What the kriff do we care wat he is?" sneered one of the five. "He's payin' us enuf credits to buy several starships."

Dinua drew her plasma pistol in a flash, resting the barrel right between the eyes of the leader. "You can't buy anything if you're dead."

"Wait, Dinua!" Doran said hastily, just before her finger pulled the trigger. The scumbag at the end of her barrel was shaking, cross-eyed as he stared at the barrel in terror.

"_Dikut_," Dinua sighed in exasperation. "They were going to kill us. All for credits. They don't deserve to live."

"Yes we do!" Protested one of the others, taking a step forward.

Dinua's other hand jerked upwards, a hold-out blaster clenched in her fist. "Shut up."

"How is that different than what you Mandos do," Doran said.

"He's right you know," grumbled scumbag number three.

Dinua's head whipped around lightning fast to glower at Doran. "You did _not_ just compare the _Mando'ade_ to these filth."

The lead scumbag took advantage of her momentary distraction and knocked her gun out of her hand sending it skidding across the rust-covered metal floor. The gun discharged, its plasma bolt blowing a hole through a rusted crate nearby. Dinua quickly whirled to the side to avoid the giant vibroblade, then kicked out and took several steps backwards, holding up her hold-out blaster.

"That pea-shooter is only good for two shots," the leader sneered.

"An' we all have guns," scumbag number four announced proudly, pulling out a beat-up looking blaster-pistol that was probably on its eleventh or twelfth owner.

The other scumbags did the same, each holding up dilapidated blasters that might do more damage to the wielder than its target.

"Try to scream real loud now, we want our bonus," the lead scumbag grinned.

"You call those guns?" A voice interrupted. The scumbags all turned in the direction of the voice. Jintar Skirata was sauntering from a shadowy side-corridor, his wrist-launcher aimed at the group. "I wouldn't give those things to my ak dog."

"Scram kid!" Scumbag Number Five ordered. "Or you'll be blasted along with our marks."

Jintar raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't think so."

The sound of a dozen plasma weapons powering up filled the foyer.

"We Mandos always have each other's backs," Tracyn Gedyc said simply, dropping down from the overhanging on the opposite side of the group. "Who's watching your back?"

"I would advise," one of Tracyn's squad-members, a goggle-wearing dark-skinned male, appeared as the shimmer of his stealth-field died away. "You put those rust-collectors down before you hurt yourselves."

The group of five scumbags obviously hadn't considered any contingency plans as they stood back to back surrounded by a group of armed, teenage Mandalorians.

"That's a good idea, you want to lay down your arms," Doran said hastily, sensing what the scumbags were about to stupidly do. He reinforced his words with a very subtle wave of his hand, hoping those in the know would forgive his momentary usage of the Force.

Dinua, Jintar, and Tracyn all glanced in his direction, but didn't say anything as the scumbags all seemed to take Doran's warning to heart. With defeated whimpers, they threw down their weapons and raised their hands.

"What's going to happen to them?" Doran asked as members of Tracyn's squad cuffed the five.

"Considering they didn't hurt anyone, they'll be packed up into a ship and forbidden from returning to Mandalorian space," Jintar answered. He bent down on his way over and picked up Dinua's blaster. "Thought I recognized the energy discharge. You're lucky it went off during a lull in the songs."

"I had things under control," Dinua grumped.

"I have a question regard those weapons you're carrying," Doran said, eyeing Tracyn's squad.

"Shoot."

Doran glared at Jintar's pun. "Do Mandalorians normally carry stealth-belts, thermal detonators, shoulder or wrist launchers, and all manner of stabby-shooty –to-death implements when you guys go clubbing?"

"Yeah," Tracyn answered, approaching them. She tilted her head to the side and frowned as she tucked one of her vibroblades horizontally into her studded belt. "Why, doesn't everyone? That's why it's called clubbing."

Doran hung his head. "Never mind."

**FtF(V)FtF**

The group of young Mandalorian adults and one Jedi just-turned-teen returned to the training facility without any further instances of murder, mayhem, or heart-racing events that normally follow Mandalorians and Jedi. Only, once they were back onboard the floating training camp, Doran was reminded that he was now ten hours removed from his _Verd'goten_. Ten hours away from getting his shebs completely handed to him by Dinua 'Droid-Impersonator' Jeban and being laughed off the station.

It was that panic that had driven him to hole himself up in Tracyn's _Kyr'tsad_ training room. He was sweaty, his mind almost blank as he ran through Jedi, Mandalorian, and all the other combat forms he had been taught. Unfortunately he overbalanced himself and got his growing legs caught up in each other. He unceremoniously toppled to the worn mat, grateful that he had no audience. The Jedi katas were a lot harder to do if you were deliberately blinding yourself to the Force.

With that though, his mind returned to Dinua's question. If he wasn't able to use the Force, was he still a Jedi? If he wasn't a Jedi, what was he? A commando in training following in the footsteps of his dad? He definitely wasn't a Mandalorian. He picked himself up and shook his head.

Today he had saved five lives but failed one. But _why_ did he do that? In the store with the Vong he had told the Mandos he intervened because it was the right thing to do, but right for who? The Mandos obviously hadn't cared if the clerk lived or died. Had been more than eager to kill the gang that had ambushed he and Dinua. _Could_ he still be a Jedi but not use the Force? Gripping the training staff in his hands, he whirled it around like the best of staff-masters, keeping careful note of his large feet this time. With a yell, he brought the staff down, bashing an invisible enemy. He then spun it back and thrust it forward._ Who am I_?

He was Doran Sarkin-Tainer. A kid in over his head yet somehow staying afloat thanks to his older, but crazy Mando friends. A kid, who because it was the right thing to do, somehow managed to piss off a Vong commander and get a hit-squad sent after him. He definitely knew what he _wasn't _ going to put in his daily message to his mom. And then his foot slipped on a small patch of sweat that had lined the aging mat, and he fell down once more.

"You're trying too hard," Jintar called out.

Doran ruefully glanced towards the door and saw both Jintar and Tracyn watching. And from the looks of it, they had been there a while. They were sitting on collapsible flimsiplast chairs, each with a drink that was nearly gone. Without the Force to help his awareness, he hadn't sensed them at all.

Panting, Doran shook his head. "I'm not trying hard enough. If I'm not at the top of my game, I'll become very acquainted with the floor when I fight Dinua tomorrow.

"You're assuming that _she_ will be at the top of her game, _dar'manda_," Tracyn voiced. "One of the reasons why I'm surprised she volunteered is because tomorrow will be the anniversary of her mother's death. Most will probably think her to be a cold and unfeeling…person. But we know better, right?"

Doran could only stare at the duo as the information slowly trickled through his determination to not look stupid in front of a crowd of Mandos. "First anniversary?"

"Don't know the full story," Jintar spoke. "Dinua was staying with us while her mom was out with _Mand'alor_ on some top-secret mission. When the mission was over, Commander Beviin appears with the news that Dinua's mom was killed in action and that he was adopting Dinua. When Dinua asked who was responsible, all Beviin said was that some Jedi and a Vong were involved. To be honest, I'm surprised she hasn'tkilled you already."

"I'm her meal-ticket into the super-commandos," Doran deadpanned. "She won't kill me until after she gets in."

"Boys," Tracyn rolled her eyes, slapping Jintar in the stomach. "Anyways, Skirata's right. You're trying too hard, _dar'manda_. You know a heck of a lot more combat moves than I did at your age, probably seen systems more _osik_ than most anyone your age. You're ready for it. Don't let Jeban's scary untouchable status get to you. I know from personal experience that you _can_ beat her."

Doran just nodded and resumed his training, breathing heavily as he did. "Easy for you to say, Tracyn. You guys have been training since birth to fight the galaxy. I've had the whole passive-resistance mantra pounded into me all the while."

Tracyn rolled her eyes and looked over to her partner. "Skirata. Do something before he hurts himself."

"What, why me?"

"Because if _I_ do something, I'm more than likely going to hurt him. Now go, hairless Wookie Number Two."

"You met me first, why am _I_ number two?"

"Go," Tracyn slapped his stomach again. "I'm squad leader."

"Fine, fine, pull rank," Jintar just shook his head. He glanced to the wall of training weapons and unhooked another training staff. "Hey, _dar'manda_. If you think you still need training, I'll take you on."

"Oi, Jintar. I said stop him, not provoke him?" Tracyn shook her head in exasperation.

Jintar winked over his shoulder. "A trick my dad taught me, _Kyr'tsadika_."

Doran glanced to the lean but muscular dark-skinned Mandalorian teen. Conventional wisdom suggested that he not accept the challenge. Though the two were roughly the same height, Jintar had three more years of hard-toned muscle and skill to go off of—well two more years if you were using Galactic Standard, but this was Gargon and even the years were Mandalorian.

Also, unlike Doran, Jintar was used to his own body size. For Doran, whose growth spurt had started only two years earlier, he just felt gangly and awkward. Yet, Doran felt a need to prove _something_ to Jintar and to himself.

Whether that something was 'see I told you I'd get my butt kicked' or 'I guess I _am _ready' Doran didn't know.

He whirled the bo staff into a ready position, accepting Jintar's challenge with a slight nod. He expected Jintar to say something cocky, to return the gesture. What he didn't expect was Jintar to go all out right out of the gate. A flurry of whacks later, and Doran found himself on his back with the tip of Jintar's bo staff resting against his throat.

"See, I told you I was getting my butt kicked," Doran breathed

"_Dikut_, if you go into a battle expecting to get your butt kicked, what do you think will happen?" Jintar shook his head and helped Doran back to his feet. "Stop trying to play towards _our_ strengths and play towards your own."

"Huh?"

"The mini-Ewok over there uses her size and speed to get through her opponent's guards. I use my manly, Wookie-strength," A snort from Tracyn went ignored by Jintar. "To overwhelm, which is why _Kyr'tsadika_ kicks my _shebse _so often. What's your strength? You've heard that the way you fight defines you, right? Well, how does your fighting style say who you are? Sure you can try to mimic everything we have taught you, but you're not really a Mando are you? So if you fight as a Mando, you won't be as strong."

"So what? Forget everything you guys taught me?"

"Didn't say that," Jintar shook his head and spun his training staff casually. "Who are you _dar'manda_? Answer that question and you'll know how to fight and win."

"I've been trying to answer that question since I got here," Doran grumbled. "My entire life I was trained and raised as a Jedi. But without the Force, I can't very well call myself one."

"Why not?" Jintar asked.

"Jedi use the Force."

"Mandalorians use _beskar'gam_, and a whole bunch of weapons, but if you strip a Mando of all of that and leave him," Tracyn cleared her throat. "Or her," Jintar added quickly. "On a desolate planet, they'll still be _Mando'ad_."

"That's different. Anyone can do good deeds, follow the precepts taught by the Jedi, but only the Jedi can use the Force."

"So you're not fully a Jedi then," Jintar began a few swings towards Doran, letting the younger teen bat them aside. "But you're not a Mando either, despite the fact that you're using Mando moves to help you. In fact, you're probably using fighting styles from a half-dozen different peoples. Who in the galaxy do you know of does that?"

"No one," Doran said, trying to go on the offensive.

"No one but you," Jintar corrected, easily fending off Doran's distracted attacks. "So stop trying to be someone else, trying to be a Jedi or a Mando, or one of those other peoples you've learned from. Stop trying to imitate them and just be yourself."

Doran's eyes narrowed as he listened to what Jintar was saying. Cocking his head to the side slightly, he stopped trying to attack Jintar and took a step back. He closed his eyes, letting out a couple of breaths, before opening them again with a faint grin.

"What?" Jintar blinked.

"Just being myself," Doran shrugged, gesturing for Jintar to attack.

Jintar blinked again, but then returned the shrug and lashed out with his staff. The staff breezed through nothing but air despite the speed. Jintar tried attacking again, but this time Doran ducked under the sweeping slash.

"Being yourself?" Jintar panted after several more swings hit nothing but air.

"Uh huh," Doran smiled cockily. "Come on."

Jintar went on the offensive for real this time, his feet propelling his solid form towards the younger teen. Doran, however, continued to dodge from side to side, only rarely letting his training staff parry Jintar's strikes.

"Stand still you little bug!" Jintar grumbled, trying to body-check Doran.

Doran spun to the side, foot out, and Jintar tumbled to the ground.

"Oh that was wicked!" Tracyn clapped in amusement. "Go Wookie Number One!"

"Hey, who's side are you on?" Jintar complained, brushing himself off.

"His of course," Tracyn said with a smirk.

"Okay," Jintar whirled to Doran. "Again, and this time…"

Tracyn cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow. "Soothe your hurt man-feelings another day, Skirata. Last thing we want is for Jeban to blame us for anything that goes wrong."

Jintar pouted, but sighed. "Fine. Looks like you discovered who you were, Doran."

Doran smiled. "Thanks to you, Wookie Number Two."

Jintar glared at Tracyn. "Are you sure I can't whack him upside the head just once?"

"I need you in fighting shape tomorrow too," Tracyn shook her head, but was grinning. "Don't forget we have the squad-on-squad tournament at the same time as Doran's _Verd'goten_."

"What's that about?" Doran asked.

"Losing team gets to return home in disgrace," Jintar elaborated. "Our entire cohort participates, so we get to compete against three others squads who'd love to see _Kyr'tsadika_ fail."

"Good luck guys."

"Not that we'll need it," Tracyn said. "You'll be good for tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," Doran breathed, glancing down at the training staff he was holding. "Thanks you two."

"Our pleasure," Jintar clapped Doran on the back in a friendly manner. "Good luck tomorrow."

Doran laughed at that. "Not that I'll need it. Do or do not. No trying."

"That's the spirit." Jintar made his way over to Tracyn's seated form. "Okay Ewok. The _ad_'s ready. Happy?"

"Very," Tracyn nodded once. She gave Doran a small wink, and together she and Jintar exited the room.

Doran could only shake his head at his friends' antics. Despite still feeling anxious for the coming day, a good part of him knew there was nothing more he could do about it. Tomorrow would come when it did, and stressing over it was only going to give him a stomach ache. Moving over to the racks of training weapons, Doran placed the staffs he and Jintar had used back in their place, and then gazed out the hangar bay at the desolate landscape.

Tomorrow. It was only a day away.

**FtF(IV)FtF**

_Hi mom,_

_ Just thinking about tomorrow. You know, the day I either get to stay a kid in the eyes of the Mandos or suddenly become an adult. Don't get me wrong, I __am__ okay with it and all. I have these great Mando friends who helped knock some sense into me. I'm nervous, but not freaking out nervous if you know what I mean. I'm pretty sure I can ace whatever test they throw at me. You don't have to be concerned about that, though I doubt you ever were. You __were__ the one who sent me to a Mando training camp after all._

_ Fortunately, my trainer gave me the day off to relax considering everything that's happening tomorrow. Oh, right, Dinua took the place of my verd'goten tester who got kicked off the facility thanks to Jintar. Long story. Anyways, I had the day off from training so I was invited by some of my older Mando friends to go clubbing with them at the main spaceport. No I didn't have any alcoholic beverages mom, I'm not that brain-dead. Besides, the Mandos didn't drink much either so there wasn't any pressure or anything. I did learn, though that when Mandos go clubbing, they bring clubs with them, and blasters, and knives, and thermal detonators. Don't ask, another long story. Anyways, I had a relatively relaxing time with them, they are pretty wizard letting me hang out with them and all._

_Let's see what else…Oh yeah, a detachment of those aliens from another galaxy decided to set base next to the Mando training camp…and I kind of inadvertently….accidently…slightly on purpose… angered the Vong in charge of the detachment. It wasn't my fault, really! You're the one who's always said that I should stick to what I believe in. And I followed your advice to the letter! You don't have to worry about this either though, I'm trying to keep a low profile. The only thing that Vong commander has done is send a bunch of second-rate thugs after me and Dinua, and you know how second-rate thugs do against Mandos in training._

_Speaking of…I've had a couple of talks with Dinua throughout the day. She's…something. It's really weird when I'm training or even talking with her. It's like she wants to rip my guts out, but also wants me to succeed at the same time. She pushes and pushes, like some of the instructors you've taken me to. But unlike them, me succeeding means she gets to follow in her mom's footsteps and become a supercommando. I get the sense she's only doing it because it's what everyone expects of her and not because it's what she wants. _

_With that in mind, just what exact did you want me to become mom? I'm never going to be a Jedi like those other kids at the Academy. My closest friend there is going to become a fish when she gets older so it's not like we can go adventuring either. And I'm definitely not commando material, at least according to all the Mando's I've met so far. I'm just me…Doran Sarkin Tainer, a thirteen year old kid who has no idea what he's going to become when he grows up. I have Jedi abilities, but rarely follow the code. I've killed people, have more combat training than most kids my age, have been to more planets, space-stations, and nebulae than many people alive. So what? A part of this Verd'goten is declaring who you are, stating where you belong in this galaxy. Most Mandos will belong to their clan, will fight at their brothers' and sisters' side, will live and die for their planet and their ways. But what about me? I don't know. Is being Doran Sarkin Tainer, eclectic-Jedi adventurer good enough?_

_Sorry to ramble like that, I just have a lot on my mind between all things that start with 'vev'. Verd'goten, Vong, vencuyot…which means 'future' in Mando'a by the way. I get the feeling that whatever I do on this station is going to follow me for a long while, shape my future. _

_I'm going to turn in early today. Tomorrow I get to become a man! Laugh and roll your eyes all you want mom, but this is your fault. Again. Isn't this like my third coming of age ceremony I had to attend because you keep getting me into these situations? I can't wait until I actually grow up and __look__ like a grown up. I'm getting tired of people calling me 'kid' every time we land on a new planet. See, I'm starting to get grumpy like dad now, I better go to sleep. I'll write you again tomorrow._

_Your Son, _

_Doran Sarkin Tainer._

**FtF(Chapter End)FtF**

A\N: Hope you all enjoyed it! Last chapter in two weeks.


	5. Forging the Future

**Chapter 5: Forging the Future**

**FtF(I)FtF**

Wondering why the Mandalorians couldn't have the _verd'goten _first thing in the morning, and not at the very end of the day, Doran picked at the food on his plate. He didn't even have the benefit of Tracyn reassurance, Jintar's sarcastic comments, or Dinua's backhanded support. The older Mandalorian teens were all in training exercises of their own, having spent the previous day 'slumming it' with him.

Nineteen hours to go. Nineteen _long _hours.

There were two thumps as two someones sat down on either side of him. As thumps go, both were heavily armored even though it was still first light.

"_Su'cuy, ad_."

"Teroc, right?" Doran said, recognizing the 'doorman' he had met on the first day. "Done guarding access hatches?"

Teroc laughed a deep laugh. "Apparently someone made a stink about _Kyr'tsad_ guarding the door, said I couldn't be trusted. Beviin has me in the kitchens instead. Don't be surprised if a couple if _dikutes_ come down with the runs."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to Mandalorian humor," Doran sighed, shaking his head. "Anyways, how can I help you, Mr. Teroc?"

Teroc kept a smile on his face even as he leaned over to Doran. "Watch your _shebs, ad_. There are forces at work today that normally work in the shadows."

"And I thought Jedi were cryptic," Doran snorted. "I've had to watch my back since coming here. If it wasn't Lok it was street thugs at the spaceport.

Teroc continued to smile jovially. "They were just small fries. Tracyn told you, right? The _Kyr'tsad_ is far from one faction. One of those factions is making a play for power today."

"You're warning me, why?"

"Evening the playing field," Teroc pulled back and began eating from his own plate. "Hate cowards who think striking from the shadows is an honorable thing. By the way, Tracyn knows about the threat but didn't want to tell you."

"Huh? Why?"

"Some nonsense about worrying you unnecessarily. She's continuing to hold out hope that our less intelligent brethren will grow a few brain cells between now and tonight."

"Are you part of her faction?" Doran said lightly, now truly picking at his plate.

Teroc shook his head. "That would be telling, _ad_. Just think of me as a friendly _Kyr'tsad_, and the ones that will try to kill you tonight as unfriendly _Kyr'tsad_."

"Black and white, that simple?"

"Life often is," Teroc shrugged. "Good luck tonight, kid. I'll be rooting for you."

"Thanks," Doran said flatly. "As if I didn't have enough to worry about."

Teroc clicked his tongue and gave Doran a hearty slap on the back and stood. "_Ka'tini,_ _ad_. You'll either live or die, but that's something that happens every day. Like the sun rising and setting. The only thing you can do is make sure you show life that you're worthy of another day. Catch you later, I have a couple plates to clean."

As Teroc spoke, Doran heard a strangled sound from somewhere in the mess-hall and saw two Mandalorians jackrabbit up, clutching their stomachs. Both hurried out of the hall towards the restrooms, looks of extreme concentration on their faces. Whistling, Teroc casually pushed their left-over plates into a basin and carried on as usual.

Doran just sighed. Mandalorians.

With the warning and his upcoming trials, it was hard for Doran to go about 'business as usual,' but that's what he tried to do anyways. Camping out in Tracyn's training room, he spent the next couple of hours practicing everything he knew, from blaster firing to knife work. It was oddly therapeutic as the training kept his mind distracted from what was to come. But as the hour grew later, his anxiety slowly began to return.

Deciding that eating a light snack was in order, Doran put away the training weapons and made for the door. When he opened it, however, he heard the sound of a blaster discharging and swiftly lost consciousness.

**FtF(II)FtF**

"I assure you, your eminence, he _is_ a Jedi. His mother is Tyria Sarkin Tainer, a member of the Skywalker's Jedi Order."

"I ask you to bring me a Jedi, not a boy!" the guttural sounds of a Yuuzhan Vong speaking Basic were not exactly the most pleasing sounds to return to consciousness to.

Realizing that he was in a cage that only allowed him enough room to hunch over on all fours like an animal, Doran grimaced and did his best to stretch out his large form as best as he could. From the lights of the computer monitors and holograms, he could tell he was in a ship of some sort. The Yuuzhan Vong voice he heard was none other than Gorak Lah, and the first speaker was someone Doran recognized as being in Tracyn's training squad.

"Test him!" the Mandalorian said. "I would not sully my clan's honor by bringing you anything less than what you ask."

"Very well, I will be by tomorrow morning to collect this, ._Jeedai_. But if I discover you have once again failed me.

"You won't, your eminence. I saw it with my own eyes. He used the Force to convince the trash you hired last to surrender. That's why you should have hired _Mando'ade_ in the first place."

"Do not presume to tell me what to do Overlord Viba. I may have agreed to help your pathetic faction rise above the others, but until you actually prove that you are of some use to me I am under no such obligation."

"My faction may be the smallest of _Kyr'tsad_, but we are the most lethal. More of _Mand'alor_'s _verde_ have died to our people than all the others combined. Better yet, _Mand'alor_ blames the other _Kyr'tsad_ factions and has no clue we exist. We are the hidden knife held to his throat."

"You are a piece of trash metal being waved about by a crècheling," the gruff Yuuzhan Vong voice corrected sharply. "Tomorrow, Viba. Do not disappoint me."

"I won't, Gorak Lah." Doran pretended to be unconscious as the Mandalorian deactivated the comm and swore loudly. "_Haar'chak_! That _hut'uunla sheb!"_

"What are your orders, Overlord?" Another Mandalorian asked.

"Keep watch over the Jedi brat. I have to report to Tracyn for a debriefing and I'd be missed if I didn't show.

"Why not kill the boy?" A weedy voice asked, the speaker in full Mandalorian armor. "He's no good to us alive."

"The _Vongese_ want Jedi specimens to study," the Overlord shook his head. "I'd be perfectly happy disposing this Jedi too, but we have a deal. They'll kill Gedyc and Vizsla and we supply them with Jedi."

"I still think we should have gone the other route." A fourth voice said.

"What? Have Gedyc and Vizsla produce my heirs so that all of _Kyr'tsad_ would be united under one bloodline?"

"It is the best option. If they die, they might turn into martyrs. Alive, they can ensure the purity of _Kyr'tsad_ for another generation."

"As appealing as they both are, Gedyc and Vizsla are soft…too soft," the Overlord shook his head without a moment's consideration. "I won't pollute the Viba bloodline with their worthless genes. Better we annihilate their taint than let it continue. Which is why it's imperative that you guard this Jedi. The _Vongese _won't raise a finger until he's in their grasp."

"Don't worry Overlord, you can count on us."

"The others don't even have a clue we have them, relax, Overlord."

"I know the times haven't been easy. But I have to thank the six of you for believing in my father enough to continue his dream of a pure Mandalorian race. When Clan Viba rises above all others, you and your families will be rewarded."

The Overlord and two others left the room. The seconds ticked by, the remaining three Mandalorians settling into a routine in front of the computer banks.

"Some Jedi, the kid still hasn't awoken from that electro-dart we hit him with."

"What do you expect from a soft Jedi," the weedy-voiced Mandalorian replied. "It just a good thing we got to him before the _Verd'goten_. Now people are going to think he's just a coward who's run off."

"Though I follow the Overlord, you have to admit that both Gedyc and Vizsla are pleasing to the eye," leered the third, Doran dubbed as Immoral Mandalorian. From the angle he was at, Doran could see that Mr. Immoral was actually tapped into the security cameras of the training facility. "He could at least give them to us if he doesn't want them."

"We can bring that up when he gets back," the weedy-voice Mandalorian said. "He does owe us after all."

"Hey, do either of you want some food?" The first of the three said. "The kid's not going anywhere and Viba won't be back for another hour or two. I can stop by the mess-hall and pick up a few things in the meantime."

"Sounds good, get me a nerf-steak with extra gravy."

"How about a ration bar, dikut?" the first said dryly. The doors swooshed open again and Doran was left with the both of them.

There were a few problems, however. One, his hands were stun-cuffed behind him. Two he was pretty sure the collar with the blinking light around his neck wasn't for decorative purposes. Three, there might be more than just the two Mandalorians waiting on the other side of the door. His mind still felt foggy from whatever they had hit him with and he didn't trust his Jedi senses at the moment. Which wasn't good considering that escape was probably a very good idea.

"It's also a shame we couldn't wait until after the _ad's_ _verd'goten_," Weedy-Voice said. "I wonder how he would have fared against Jeban."

"Well by now they'll think he ran off, so no point wondering."

"And now we have to watch that kid," Weedy-Voice muttered. "We can just set off the collar and tell Viba that it shorted a circuit. Not like it hasn't happened before."

Mr. Immoral laughed a barking laugh. "We could. But then Viba wouldn't get the _Vongese_ support. We have a handful of Kyr'tsad clans willing to sign up if this deal goes through."

"What's to make the _Vongese _keep their word?" Weedy-Voice pulled out what looked like a detonator and began carelessly tossing it up and down.

Deciding that relying on chance probably wouldn't be the most life prolonging, Doran not so subtly managed to flick his wrist despite the binders securing them. The pin to a grenade attached to Weedy-Voice's belt popped out and fell to the greasy deck floor, the sound lost over the banter of the two Kyr'tsad. Doran spent the next few seconds curling himself up into as small a ball as his large form would let him and surrounding himself with Force energy.

The grenade ended up being a sonic one, and when it went off it pretty much liquefied Weedy-Voice in his armor. The shockwave that continued outward hit Mr. Immoral and ruptured the veins in his organs, toppling him over before it even registered that he was in danger. The computer consoles erupted in a shower of sparks and electrical flashes, and the windows in the room blew out from the pressure-wave. Fortunately the ship appeared docked in a pressurized environment and nothing was vented into the void of space.

Unfortunately, the pin for one of Weedy-Voice's other grenades fell out from the jostling, and a split second later, an incendiary charge ignited.

For Doran, the initial sonic wave had peeled off the roof of his cage, but he was still bound, and now had the additional burden of escaping a room that was now fast on fire. The grease stains coating the floor and walls made for perfect kindling and aided the incendiary grenade in its task.

Kicking out, he managed to destroy the weakened cage, and like a worm he wiggled from its confines. The only good news was that his collar appeared to have been deactivated when the bank of computers went up in flames. However, he still had a few dozen grams of explosives around his neck, something most people tried to avoid. Especially when one was trapped in a flaming room. The pressure wave of the sonic grenade had warped the door, preventing it from opening or closing.

So when the door was no longer an option, how was a thirteen-year old Jedi adventurer with his hands bound behind his back supposed to escape the burning cockpit of an unknown ship?

Through the equally flaming windows of course.

Hopping as best as he could with his legs stunned cuffed together, flames licking at him from all over, Doran managed to angle himself towards the nearest window and throw himself out. He bounced on the nose of the vessel, then proceeded to roll off. Considering all he saw was a steep drop on either side of the nose, that wasn't a good thing. With a panicked cry, he quickly reached out with his bound hands and managed to snag his stun-cuffs around an exhaust manifold. It kept him from falling to his death, but really didn't improve his situation much. Now he was dangling over a field of stars a few meters away from a burning cockpit that someone would no doubt investigate. On the bright side, he now had a fairly good idea as to where he was.

In addition to the void of space below him, he could also see Gargon's giant sphere very slowly rotating several thousand kilometers away. He could see catwalks and all manner of metal structures sticking out from all around, leading him to believe he was on the hollowed-out moon that had been his nightly friend the past couple of days. Whoever thought that his first time meeting his nightly friend would be in a life-or-death situation.

Then again, Doran reflected, he was a Jedi and didn't do anything small.

"There he is! Blast him!" Several Kyr'tsad Mandalorians were scrambling on the surrounding catwalks with blasters at the ready.

Doran groaned. _Can my situation get any worse!_

"We don't have a good shot! Bring in the Gladiator!"

Doran let out an exasperated sound, not knowing what a Gladiator was but knowing it probably wasn't a stuffed animal meant to cuddle him.

He quickly learned that a Gladiator was a sword-like starfighter when one undocked from a neighboring pier and rotated in his direction.

"Oh come on! Isn't that overkill!?"

With a huff, Doran sent the Force into his arms and propelled himself upwards just as the fighter opened fire. On one hand he was now clear of the explosion and the fighter's line of sight. On the other, he now had a dozen Kyr'tsad Mandalorians aiming at him….and his wrists and ankles were still bound together.

But he had timed his jump so construction crane was passing overhead. His upward momentum was halted by the giant metal arm, and he hastily pulled his body onto the rusted durasteel construct as a hail of laser and plasma bolts filled the air. The crane only offered limited protection, however, as the bolts began to chew through the neglected metal with impunity. Rolling this way and that, Doran glanced in the direction of the crane's controls and saw another Mandalorian wearing armor similar to the ones firing at him. He took a second to rest his forehead against the cool metal in annoyance. He was _soooo_ not catching any break. Then, the Force decided to by nice to him. A plasma bolt burned through the arm of the crane and managed to shatter the centerpiece of the bindings on his ankles.

A second later, a Mandalorian jetpacked onto the metal arm, blaster held out. Doran lashed out with his newly freed leg, the metal cuff still wrapped around his ankle making contact with the Mando's wrist and sent the blaster tumbling out into space. The Mandalorian growled and tried to tackle Doran, but the teen dropped low, and then performed another spinning kick. The anklet made contact with the Mandalorian's jetpack, and Doran heard a surprised. 'What the….!' Before the pack activated and sent the Mandalorian on a ballistic course into a wall.

His victory was short lived, however, as three more Mandalorian's rocketed up at safer distances, guns held at the ready.

Doran sighed, holding up his hands in surrender.

Then the unexpected happened. Three vibroblades flew through the air at breakneck speeds. One punched through the T-shaped visor of one jetpack-equipped Kyr'stad, another embedded itself in the neck of a second. The third was caught by the last of the trio, but it exploded in his hand a split-second later.

Eyes, Doran's and the Kyr'tsads', all glanced in the direction the blades had come from. The source was the docking berth on the opposite side of the one where the Gladiator had come from. Three figures were running like blurs amid the shadows of the decrepit shipyard. Doran heard the familiar whine of Dinua's plasma-pistol, then saw a wrist-launched rocket streak across the dock and send a cluster of Kyr'tsad flying. The chaos spread as a fuel depot ignited. Cargo crates came tumbling down on another group of Kyr'tsad. The Mandalorian splinter group may have been many, but the trio of attackers were definitely exploiting their element of surprise.

A thump on the crane drew Doran's attention again.

"Come on, _Ori'dikut!_" Tracyn called out. She was wearing Kyr'tsad Mandalorian armor that appeared to be a few sizes too big for her.

Doran blinked. "Aren't you a little short for a …"

"Finish that and you can save yourself," Tracyn answered, whipping off her helmet and glaring at him. "Now can we go! We don't exactly have an answer for those Gladiators they have zipping about."

A Kyr'tsad jetpacked up behind her, and Tracyn quickly arched herself backwards as a vibrosword took off a few blond locks of her hair. She retaliated by pulling out two vibroblades of her own and moved faster than Doran had ever seen. She batted aside or dodged the other's attacks as if he were moving at a Hutt's pace. What had started out as a confident offensive on the Kyr'tsad soldier's part turned into a desperate defensive action. There was an electric crackle as the vibrosword slid across her blades, the larger Kyr'tsad soldier trying to overpower Tracyn's slight form. She managed to twist herself to the side, and swapped out one of her blades with one strapped to the small of her back. When the Kyr'tsad soldier lunged again, she spun and jammed her new blade into his over-stretched thigh. A crackle of paralyzing electricity covered the Kyr'tsad soldier, the lights on his armor shorting out for a split second. In constant motion, Tracyn whirled about again pulling her knife free and spinning so that she was behind the disabled fighter. Without saying a word, she used her second vibroblade to slit his throat, then threw the body over the side of the crane.

"You were holding back on me weren't you," Doran said faintly.

Tracyn regarded him with a hesitant smile, biting her lower lip nervously. "Yes?"

A much larger explosion sounded, bringing the two back to reality. "That's not good."

Tracyn quickly freed Doran's wrists from his cuffs. "No. Let's hope Jeban and Skirata have thought of something."

"This is some rescue. You mean you guys don't have a way out?" Doran said in disbelief.

"You kind of nerfed it by getting everyone to shoot at you," Tracyn retorted, the two running along the length of the crane to more stable ground. "We were going to impersonate these _dikute_, pretend Hairless Wookie Number Two was our prisoner, and bluff our way to where you were being held. We were then going to use the ship's waste-disposal system to flush ourselves clear. Then you had to blow the ship up."

"Oh, sorry," Doran said, his heart pounding.

"It's okay, we just need to buy enough time for the other teams to get into position."

They shimmied down several dangling cables to a rusted catwalk, now off the narrow and exposed length of the crane. All around the _Kyr'tsad_ were stumbling over themselves trying to take on a combined Jintar-Dinua attack. The two weren't the only Mandos shooting at the _Kyr'tsad, _but they were the only two mowing down whole squads at a time.

But not all the traitorous Mandos were occupied.

Two more Kyr'tsad Mandalorians landed on either side of the catwalk Doran and Tracyn were on, both armed with wicked looking vibroswords.

Tracyn just shook her head and passed a vibroblade to Doran. "I want that _kal _back, it's one of my favorites."

Doran took the small-in-comparison blade and swallowed as he eyed his heavily-armored opponent. "His sword looks a lot bigger."

Tracyn glanced around Doran. "Oh, he has a _beskar_ blade. It'll break yours if it comes in contact with it too much. Have fun."

"Thanks?"

"Mine has two," Tracyn clarified, gesturing with her own dual-bladed stance.

"Oh, good luck."

Tracyn gave him a cocky grin. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

Then, he and Tracyn both took off towards their armored opponents. Given that they were both on the narrow catwalk, none of them had room to maneuver. The Mandalorian Doran was facing slashed with obvious strength and nearly cleaved apart the catwalk when the blade missed its target. Doran gripped the railing and swung himself around, ending up behind the soldier. The Mandalorian swung again, making another gouge in the walkway. Then another wrathful swing, this time making contact with Doran's blade and causing it to hiss not unlike a lightsaber blade. Feeling the raw strength behind the attack, Doran deliberately let himself fall backwards. The Mandalorian's own strength used against him, sent the armored soldier stumbling. Doran kipped up and jammed his vibroblade into the weakened catwalk. The section the soldier was on gave way completely and dumped the soldier into the void of space below.

Doran spun around in time to see Tracyn turn her own opponent into a pincushion. The low-quality durasteel armor appeared to have been cut apart as if it were made of plasteel.

"_Kyr'tsadika, _quit showing off!" Dinua Jeban yelled out from the more solid surface of the moon. "We need to go now!"

"Too late!" Jintar Skirata zip-lined down to where Dinua was. "Vongese picketship just docked."

"We'll split up," Tracyn said. "Two will be harder to find than four."

"We'll head to the surface," Dinua said tersely. "Hopefully we'll draw a few of these guys off you."

"And I'll take our _dikut_ here to the ship, we'll pick you up at rally-point _ca_." Tracyn said with a nod. She gripped Doran's hand. "This way, let's go!"

**FtF(III)FtF**

Their footsteps sounded unnaturally loud to Doran as he and Tracyn sprinted through the cored-out Gargon moon. From the sounds echoing throughout the structure, Jintar and Dinua were being successful in their plan to draw the surviving _Kyr'tsad_ soldiers away. Maybe too successful.

"Are they going to be okay?" Doran asked anxiously.

Tracyn smiled gently, brushing a few locks of blond hair out of her face. "They will. Don't worry, the moment we learned you were kidnapped, we all upped our training while Commander Beviin used his resources to find you."

"What about the other teams?"

"That's why I'm not too worried," Commander Wren has a fireteam ready to jump in if things go out of control. This moon _is _ part of Mandalorian territory so we have it fully mapped."

"How _did_ you find me, anyways?"

"Viba's not as bright as he thinks he is," Tracyn said, rolling her eyes as they jogged. "I made him as a _Kyr'tsad_ the first day he joined my squad. Didn't know he was a faction leader until later though. When suspicion began to fall on him, I planted a tracer on him."

"And how long ago was this?"

"Let's see, your _Verdgoten_ was meant to be three days ago," Tracyn said. "When you didn't show, most of the others thought you had gotten cold feet and taken yourself off-world."

"What about you, Jintar, and Dinua?"

"Dinua was the least convinced of everyone," Tracyn replied with a small smile. "She said you'd be too stupid to run away from danger, and that you probably found something more life-threatening than facing her in the fighting-ring. Jintar and I figured that if Dinua believed that about you, she was probably right."

"Thanks," Doran said sarcastically. "Are we near the ship now? I don't want those two in any more danger than they are in now."

"Yeah, the hangar just around the…"

Doran quickly held out his hand to stop Tracyn from rounding another corner, a shiver going down his spine. Before Tracyn could ask what he was doing, an animalistic howl seemed to reverberate off all their surroundings. It was a howl Doran had never heard before, and it sounded angry.

Slowly Tracyn drew her two vibroblades again, her blue eyes looking wary. Doran likewise pulled out the blade she had given him. They edged around the corner and froze.

"_Vongese_," Tracyn hissed, taking a cautious step back.

The animal-like creatures howled once more, snarling and barking at Doran in particular.

"So the _infidel_ was right, you are _Jeedai_" a purple-skinned, heavily scarred Yuuzhan Vong warrior sneered. "Commander Lah will be most pleased."

'What are those?" Doran couldn't help but ask. Staring at the grotesque, person-sized lizard-canine-like creatures being held on a living leash.

"A work in progress," a Yuuzhan Vong clad in clothes that seemed to breathe in time with his own breaths answered. Finger attachments writhed like snakes, but he did not appear to be armed or armored like the other three warriors standing around him. "The merging of the genetic material is not yet perfected, but when it is, we will have a beast capable of sensing and hunting down _Jeedai_ no matter where they try to hide. But even in their incomplete forms, they can still tell a _Jeedai _apart from the rest."

"Come with us and we'll spare your friend there," the Yuuzhan Vong warrior in charge offered with a false smile that seemed more like a grimace.

"He's not going anywhere near you creeps," Tracyn hissed, even though all four Yuuzhan Vong were nearly twice her height. "I know about the treaty you have with _Mand'alor_, you're forbidden from spilling Mandalorian blood. If you want to take him you have to kill me first."

"Tracyn," Doran said in shock.

"Mandalorians look out for each other," Tracyn hissed. "What kind of Mandalorian would I be if I just let you walk to these _verde_ without a fight?"

"A living one?" Doran tried.

"I grow tired of this," the Yuuzhan Vong warrior sneered. He gestured with a hand. "_Jeedai_ you _will_ come with us now."

"I think I'll pass," Doran said faintly, hoping Tracyn knew what she was doing.

"Suit yourself," The Yuuzhan Vong warrior answered. "Just know that the treaty will still be intact if the Mandalorian happens to be killed by a wild-animal. No Yuuzhan Vong would be involved if that was the case. Remember _Jeedai_, her death will be your fault. All you had to do was come with us."

The Yuuzhan Vong warrior nodded to the unarmored Yuuzhan Vong holding the creatures' leash. The unarmored Vong released the leash and followed his compatriots out of the room. After a long, tense second all five of the strange creatures lunged for Doran, howling as they did.

Unlike other sentient creatures Doran fought, these creatures were all murderous instinct. As if his very existence offended them. He let out a strangle cry of fear as they bore down on him, reflexively raising his arms to protect his face.

There was a yelp and Doran saw one of the creatures on the ground with one of Tracyn's vibroblades in its head. But that only seemed to anger the surviving creatures. The creatures, showing some sign of intelligence, broke off into pairs and attacked the two young humans. Both Doran and Tracyn managed to down one more each, before receiving their first wounds.

A trio of barbed spikes on the creatures' tail slashed open a gash across Doran's chest, its claw sending white hot jolts of pain as it raked his back as well. He gasped, staggering and trying to form some sort of defensive stance. He was distracted though when he felt a searing agony through the force.

Tracyn had let out a scream of her own as the jaws of her surviving creature clamped down on one of her arms, the crunch of bone audible as her ill-fitting armor failed to protect her. She used her other hand to jam a vibroblade into the creature's eyes, ending its life quickly.

Doran fended off his own attacking hybrid, before ramming his blade into its side, hitting something vital.

Both teens looked at each other, breathing in relief at their success. But then Tracyn's eyes widened.

"Look out!" Using the same speed Doran had seen her employ earlier, she raced to him and used her slight form to knock him off balance.

One of the creatures was still alive, only just, and had used its dying breath to spit a stream of noxious-looking fluid at him. Noxious looking acidic fluid.

Sprawled as he was, Doran knew he'd never forget the sound or sight as the acid splashed across one side of Tracyn's face and over her armor. Her screech branded itself into his mind, his jaw dropping as he saw flesh and metal melt like water.

But he was quick to snap from his stupor, springing to action. He summoned the Force with every ounce of concentration he could and pressed his hands into the dissolving side of Tracyn's face. She was mercifully unconscious by then, but the acid was still eating away the tissues and threatening more vital areas. Despite his own hands beginning to blister from contact with the affected area, Doran recalled the lessons from the holocron of Republic-era Jedi Empatojayos Brand and began to absorb the harmful effects of the acid. He pulled molecule after molecule out of Tracyn's face, his hands reddening, skin beginning to bubble in turn. At the same time, however, he was letting the Force flow through his body to neutralize the agents he was taking in. It was an act of desperation, borne from the fact that he didn't want Tracyn's death to be on his hands.

The Yuuzhan Vong warrior had been right, if she died, it'd be his fault. He should have just done the Jedi thing and gone with the warrior.

As tears of fear and pain began to roll down his cheeks, he redoubled his efforts. Tracyn's vitals continued to grow weaker. He thrust out one hand and sent the acid-logged armor plating flying off the unconscious older teen, not needing another wound to heal while he struggled to keep her skull intact.

More hurried footsteps from behind, but Doran didn't care who it was. He knew that if he stopped what he was doing, then Tracyn would die for sure.

"Come on, please," Doran pleaded hoarsely, trying futilely to master his emotions.

"What's the _ad_ do…" A Mandalorian was quickly shushed by a voice that sounded like Jintar.

"Stay back," Dinua's own cold voice added quickly. If Doran had looked in her direction, he would have seen sheer shock. After all, his own wounds were soaking his clothing with blood and Tracyn definitely didn't look any better. "He's probably her only chance at living."

"Impossible, with an injury like that! I can practically see her brain!"

"If you don't have anything useful to say get out," Dinua's plasma pistol backed her up.

Jintar moved to Doran's side and crouched down next to him. "What do you need?"

Doran looked at Jintar with wild, tear-filled eyes. "Got an instant bacta tank? The acid vapor got to her lungs, I'm losing her."

"What did she get hit with?"

"Something," Doran said, pushing more Force energy into Tracyn. "Even if I do save her, she probably won't be the same. As it is, I'm using the Force to keep her heart beating."

Jintar clenched his jaw. "My uncles are going to kill me for this, but we can take her to Manda'yaim. To the Kyrimorut, my home. We have the best medical facilities and healers there."

"Get that carbonite chamber ready!" Dinua yelled to several others.

"Carbonite?" Jintar's head whipped around.

"She won't make it to Manda'yaim in her current conditions and we're lightminutes away from the nearest trustworthy bacta tank," Dinua reasoned grimly. "We're also short on stasis chambers. Carbonite will have to do. The way I heard the current _Mand'alor_ tell it, it puts people in cryohibernation. "

"It might kill her!"

"At least she won't die with acid eating away at her face," Dinua snapped. "Now pick her up and get her to the cargo-loading bay, I'll take care of the _dikut_. Really, we leave the two of them alone for a few minutes and they almost get themselves killed!"

"I…I have to stay by her side, the Force is keeping her alive for now," Doran said, seemingly in a daze.

"You have to worry about not collapsing yourself," Dinua hissed, stopping him with a hand to his bloodied chest. "_Vongese_ creations are _always_ poisonous, it's how I lost my mom. Now shut up and let me tend to your wounds."

Doran swayed as he tried to stand and follow Jintar out of the room, so Dinua promptly drove her gauntleted fist into his face and he lost all consciousness.

**FtF(IV)FtF**

Doran slowly returned to the waking world, finding himself in an unfamiliar room, his mouth feeling dry and the scent of bacta still filling his nostrils.

"Good morning, _ad_," a grizzled older man said sarcastically. "You done with your beauty sleep?"

"I've gone to hell, haven't I?" Doran groaned hoarsely, head falling back to his pillow. "Why else would I be waking up to an ugly Mandalorian?"

"The kid does have spirit," an older female voice chuckled.

Doran weakly canted his head in the direction of the new speaker and saw a red-haired woman with sparkling green eyes standing by a tray full of various medical instruments. A few wrinkles and some gray hairs betrayed her age, but she appeared almost as youthful as his mom. It was then that his Force abilities kicked in and made him do a double take.

"You're both Jedi."

"Was," the older man cleared his throat gruffly. "Not any more. We gave up that title long ago."

"What was the last thing you remember?" the red-haired healer asked gently.

Doran blinked as he forced his head to catch up to the matters at hand. "A Mandalorian fist heading straight for…wait a minute! Did Dinua actually punch me!"

"Broke your nose," the older man said, nodding in amusement. "She wanted us to leave it the way it was, as a reminder against being stupid. But we figured you better appreciate the way it use to be, so we fixed it for you."

"Oh…thanks," Doran ran a hand through his hair, then jolted upright. "Tracyn! How is she! Is she okay! Is she…."

"Easy," the red-haired woman said softly. "Kina Ha is tending to her still. She's in the best of hands."

"But…"

"My name is Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy, but you can call me Scout." The red-haired woman introduced. "The ugly old Mandalorian is Bardan Jusik. You're at the Kyrimorut, home of Clan Skirata, our home."

Doran, still breathing heavily as the memories of Tracyn's near-death continued to cycle through his mind, tried to get out of the bed.

Scout quickly looked to Bardan who had been cracking his knuckles. "Bardan I swear if you put him out the same way Jeban did I'll make you babysit Atin's kids again!"

"If you want to traumatize them for life," grumbled Bardan, who instead unhooked a hypo-spray and injected it into Doran before the teen could get far. "Listen, _ad._ You had a bad case of blood-poisoning that would have killed anyone who _wasn't_ a Jedi. To top it off, you lost nearly a fifth of your blood due to the anti-coagulants in the poison of whatever hit you."

Dazed by whatever he had been injected with, Doran let the older man lead him back to bed. "Make up your mind; did I almost die of having not enough blood or by having blood poisoning?"

"Neither, you almost died from sheer stupidity," the voice of Dinua Jeban answered. The dark-haired warrior teen had entered the room, her face completely devoid of emotion.

"What she said," Bardan muttered.

"He's stable?"

"For now," Bardan said. "You should have heard Sull when we told him the supplies he got were to save a Jedi. I wouldn't put it past him to sabotage the next shipment of blood packs."

"You just had to tell him that?" Dinua shook her head.

"He'd have found out anyways and be twice as mad," Bardan replied dryly. "Besides, it's taken forty years and I think he's finally moved beyond the urge to kill me and Scout."

"Now it's just a very strong dislike," Scout nodded. "Don't worry. In another decade or so it might even improve to mild disdain."

Doran just groaned, his head spinning. Dinua moved over to his bedside and placed a hand over his forehead. "Good, your fever's gone down."

Bardan cleared his throat. "If I didn't know better, I'd take that as an insult, Jeban. If I could help develop a serum to rewrite the genome of a bunch of aging clones, then caring for a blood-fevered kid is child's play."

"You fixed his nose," Dinua pointed out crossly.

"On accident," Bardan huffed. "Not my fault the Force decided to fix that too."

"The Force," Dinua huffed, she looked back down to Doran. "You'll be happy to know that you've passed your _Verd'goten_."

"I did that in my sleep? I'm even better than I thought I was."

Dinua punched him in the arm. "_Dikut_. You went toe-to-toe with a _Kyr'tsad_ warrior and beat him in knife-combat. You navigated a base full of people wanting to kill you and went hand-to-hand with dangerous creatures. I think you qualified yourself."

"I nearly got Tracyn killed."

"So, next time?"

"Well, if a Vong ever tells me to surrender next time, I think I will," Doran said dryly. "Most definitely since the alternative is watching one of my few friends in this system have her face melted off."

"_Dikut_," Dinua muttered.

"You'll still train me, even though I passed my Verd'goten, right?" Doran said, his expression completely serious.

"Maybe you got hit in the head too. You actually want _me_ to train you?"

"I mean it," Doran said, reaching out to grip Dinua on the wrist. "If I had been a little better, maybe more trained in whatever Mando-magic you seem to have, maybe Tracyn wouldn't have had to push me out of the way. I had been relying on the Force to help me escape that Death Watch ship, was still using it when I was walking with Tracyn in that base. But the Vong can't be sensed in the Force, those creatures were like shadows too. I can't start relying on the Force every time things get real."

As Doran spoke, he was vaguely aware of both Scout and Bardan exchanging sorrowful looks, but he was more focused on Dinua's reaction. The dark-haired Mandalorian girl's eyes just became distant. "_Mhi Mando'ade kar'tayli kyr'am pirusti_."

"What?"

"No one is immune to death, Doran," Dinua said softly. "Not even Mandalorians."

"But you have a better chance of surviving against most."

"Against the _Vongese_? We die just like anyone else," Dinua answered, looking away. She turned around to stare at the door. "Think about your request, _dikut_. All the training in the world won't save you if it's your time. Won't save your friends and family if its theirs."

With that, Dinua left the room, leaving a very confused Doran behind. Helpless, he glanced to the older healers in the room. "I don't get her, ever since I got to Gargon she's been all over the top with my training. Now that I've actually requested her help, she doesn't want to train me anymore?"

Scout and Bardan exchanged another look.

"And would you stop with that 'should we tell him' look," Doran groaned, letting his head fall back onto the pillow of his cot.

"Three months ago, Dinua's mother was slain by the _Vongese_," Bardan said, his voice absent of its usual gruffness. "Dinua had taken ill just before the mission and hadn't accompanied her mother like usual. She blames herself for not being there to watch her mother's back."

Doran closed his eyes, suddenly understanding the conflicting emotions he had sensed from Dinua when he had first met her. _He_ couldn't imagine what he'd do if his mom died on one of their adventures, if she had died because he hadn't been there to cover her back. Then again, with the state Tracyn ended up in, he probably wouldn't have been able to do much anyways.

His mind still driving itself in circles, another thought struck him. His eyes opened wide. Frantically, he began to throw off his covers again. "I…I shouldn't be here. The Vong know I'm a Jedi, they'll report back to their boss."

"He isn't talking about the guy who owned this neat little weapon, is he?" a boisterous voice chuckled.

A bald-headed olive-skinned man entered with several others who looked almost exactly like him. In fact, Doran had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing triple. The man, muscular in build, was twirling what looked like a knife against his finger tips. A knife that looked to be almost living.

"_Su'cuy_, kid," he smiled. "Don't worry about the _Vongese_, they never made it back to their commander. Tragic accident involving a bunch of grappling hooks, a malfunctioning missile, and several protocol droids."

"Just great, Mereel, you broke him," another of the bald men shook his head in disproval. "Don't mind our brother, _kaysh mirsh solus._"

"And they are members of Clan Skirata," Scout provided, shaking her head. "Didn't I tell you boys he wasn't ready for visitors yet?"

"I think you might have mentioned something like that," the one called Mereel exaggerated a thoughtful expression. "But my lonely brain cell forgot."

Scout just held her head and shook it slowly. "Doran, that _dikut_ there is Mereel Skirata. Next to him are Atin and Fi, no doubt tagging along to keep Mereel out of trouble. Great job you two."

"We try," Fi shrugged helplessly.

"Kind of curious to see the _ad_ Kom'rk's kid was talking about," Atin added.

"So…" Doran's brain still tried to register everything. "You're triplets?"

At that, the three men looked at each other and chuckled mirthfully. Mereel grinned. "Something like that. Sorry for barging in and everything. Just wanted to let you know that your mystical hand-waving abilities are still a secret…well…to anyone you haven't told already anyways."

"How…?"

"It could be that my _beloved_ uncles decided to take up temporary jobs on that moon we were on," Jintar said, his irritation clear as he entered through another door. "Nice to see you're awake, Doran."

"We were just watching your back Skirata'ika," Mereel drawled.

"We were bored," Fi said at the same time.

"Right, did you even tell dad?"

The three looked at one and other almost guiltily. Atin held his hands out to his side, his face becoming serious. "Jintar, after what happened to your mom, did you really think we'd take the chance with your life too? It would kill your dad if anything happened to you."

Jintar just let out a sigh and looked to Doran. "So once word got out that the _Vongese_ were causing trouble with the _Kyr'tsad_, Uncle Mereel got bored welding I-beams and decided to turn his welder into a flamethrower. Then, of course, Uncle Fi and Atin had to tag along because Auntie Parja and Laseema would bop them over the head with a frying pan if they didn't back him in battle."

"Nothing scarier than a pissed off Mando woman," Fi said mournfully.

Throughout the exchange, Doran's head ping-ponged back and forth, his emotions taking another rollercoaster ride. _Just what have I gotten myself into this time_?

He saw both Bardan and Scout grin and realized that maybe they weren't so ex-Jedi after all.

"Bardan, right? Mind giving me another tranquilizer?" Doran deadpanned. "I think sleep might be good for me right now."

"Sure," Bardan shrugged, reaching for another hypospray.

"Sure he won't," Scout glared at the rugged older Jedi. With a jerk of her head, she gestured to Doran. "The _ad_'s thirteen, Bardan. Turn him into a drug-addict when he's older."

Jintar smiled weakly at Doran's bewildered expression. "Errr….welcome to the Kyrimorut, hope you like my family."

**FtF(V)FtF**

Wild, hectic, insane, unbelievable, they were some of the words Doran would use to describe his time with the Skiratas.

All five waking hours of it…and counting.

Boisterous, insane, wild, were some of the words he'd use to describe the Skiratas in general.

And he had yet to meet the entire family either.

As an only child to a more or less single-parent, Doran was not too familiar with the concept of 'brother,' 'sister,' 'aunt,' or 'uncle'. Jedi, monk-like they were supposed to be, didn't really have any big family to speak of. So Atin and Laseema's eight adopted children, Fi and Parja's four, Ad'en's three, and all the other 'honorary' Skirata running around had Doran slightly bewildered. Added to the pressure was the fact that Tracyn was still undergoing whatever operation that was required to save her life. He had done his best to preserve her life, but he knew that he hadn't been completely successful in neutralizing the acid that had eaten away at her face. Not one to pace back and forth in front of the medical door, he had opted to leave the Kyrimorut and take in several breaths of Mandalorian air.

Crisp clean air considering the Kyrimorut was located in the middle of a vibrant forest. Birds chattered, animals called out, and the leaves on the branches swayed with the gentle breeze. If he concentrated he could even hear waves lapping up against some nearby cliffs.

It was natural, peaceful, so very Jedi that he almost had to laugh at the idea.

In his musings, he heard the sound of wood striking wood and decided to head in that direction to investigate.

"_Nar dralshy'a_! In battle, failure is death."

"One more time _ba'vodu_," a female voice called out. "I know I can get it this time, I promise."

"_Nayc_, we've done enough for today. If you want to be a Protector you also need to know your limits, combat is clearly not your specialty."

"I'm sorry I let you down, _ba'vodu_."

"I'm sure. Get back to the Kyrimorut and have your mother tend to those bruises."

An olive-skinned teen came limping out of a clearing a few seconds later, and for a moment both she and Doran saw each other and blinked.

"Errr…hi?" Su'cuy…whatever," Doran said faintly.

"Su'cuy yourself," the dark-haired teen chuckled, she was holding an obviously broken arm against her chest. "I guess you heard enough huh?"

"Training?"

"With the best," she nodded. She held out her non-broken arm."The name's Etain, Etain Skirata."

"Doran." Doran's eyes went to her broken arm again as he shook the offered hand. "He broke your arm?"

"It was my fault," Etain shook her head. "I tried to block a bo-staff with my arm instead of my vibroblade. I go to Ordo because I know he'll push me to and over my limits. If I want to protect my clan then I need to be trained by the best."

"He does that with everyone?"

"No, just me really," Etain grimaced slightly. "It's because of my name. I was named after someone important to my family. Trying to fill her shoes isn't easy."

"I heard something about you trying to be a Protector. Are you at the training camp at Gargon?"

"No, I actually qualified as a Protector last year when the _Vongese_ first got in touch with _Manda'lor. _Well, barely qualified I should say, got through by two points. But with the war now starting up, I wanted to hone my skills. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go see Scout now, nice meeting you."

Doran glanced back towards the clearing the teen had emerged from. Through the Force he could feel something not unlike a dangerous predator lurking in the shadows. With a small frown he pushed aside a few low-hanging branches and entered.

There a large, olive-skinned man with a military-style haircut was busy stacking large logs in a pile.

"Might as well come out, _ad_." He said without looking up. "Unless you like scurrying about in the shadows."

Timidly, Doran did as bidden. For some reason this particular uncle of Jintar didn't seem nearly as friendly as Fi or Atin.

"The name's Ordo Skirata." Still piling up large lengths of wood, the Mandalorian didn't turn around. "What's yours?"

"Doran, sir. Doran Sarkin-Tainer."

"Are you Mandalorian?"

"No sir, a Jedi," Doran answered automatically. He immediately had a distinct feeling he had said something wrong when the lean, muscular man froze in place.

"A Jedi now?"

"Yes…is there problem?"

"No, no problem," Ordo said without emotion, he turned towards Doran almost as if he were trying to control his every muscle. Though the man's voice had been neutral, there was no mistaking the dislike in his eyes. "What are you doing on Manda'yaim?"

"Learning how to survive, I guess," Doran shrugged. "Kind of took a detour when the Vong and Death Watch made a mess of things."

Ordo tossed a bo-staff towards Doran, which the younger man instinctively caught. "Learning to survive? Show me."

"Not in the mood," Doran shook his head, rolling the staff on the ground back to Ordo. "Besides I don't need to prove myself to you."

"Jedi pacifism?"

"No, common sense," Doran replied. "Even without fighting I can tell you can kick my butt several times over. What's the point in fighting a battle already lost?"

"Spoken like a Jedi," Ordo said, the sneer not completely hidden from his otherwise veil of indifference. "The point of fighting a battle is to learn from it. Yes, you'll lose, but it's how you lose that matters."

"By denying you the fight, I'm also denying you the victory," Doran parroted one of his many instructors.

"By denying me this fight you're denying yourself an opportunity to grow. How will you ever improve if you choose fights you _know _you can win? That's what I've never understood about you Jedi. You preach and talk, but when it comes time to action you're either the first to get killed or the last to arrive."

Doran glanced at the staff resting at Ordo's feet, then looked back up to the emotionless, cold eyes of the former soldier before him. "I didn't come here to fight every single Mando who challenged me, sir."

"Then why?" Ordo challenged. "You said you came to survive? How do you intend to survive? By running? By avoiding fights? What happens when you don't have the luxury to walk away? Who will die because they were so delusional as to believe your Jedi Code?"

"And how many people are going to die because of the Mando way of doing things?" Doran challenged back, having had enough of the mind-boggling nature of Mandalorian logic. "At least we Jedi live for more than credits. While your family is all nice and cozy here, how many others are dying because your people are so happy and eager to betray the galaxy for money?"

"You…"

"There you are! My cousin said you were out here," Jintar called out, jogging into the clearing and looping a controlling arm around the younger teen. "Thanks for entertaining him, _ba'vodu_! He's still recovering from injuries he took on Gargon's moon, so don't mind him."

"Jintar, what…."

"Shut up and let me help you keep your head on your shoulders," Jintar said through gritted teeth, steering him out of the clearing as if their lives depended on it.

"He was annoying me!"

"Yeah, he does that. Even Scout and Bardan stay clear of Ordo."

"What…"

"You know about the Clone Wars, right?"

"What Jedi doesn't?"

"Yeah, think about how it ends. Clones kill Jedi, Jedi kill clones."

"Almost fifty years ago!"

"Most of my uncles are the forgiving sort," Jintar elaborated. "Ordo isn't. Even after all these years, he still places the blame for most of the suffering his brothers went through on the Jedi. Doesn't help that a Jedi killed Uncle Darman's first love, who ironically enough was another Jedi."

"What?!"

"Long story. I'll introduce you to Kad later. He's over in Keldabe advancing Skirata-backed causes with the other clans."

"So what does all this have to do with Ordo?"

"Simply put, Ordo hates Jedi. You, my friend, are Jedi. Do I need to make it any clearer?"

"Not really. And your other uncles?"

"Are better at letting the past stay in the past," Jintar said with a shrug. "But Niner and Darman aren't as Jedi-friendly as the others. Just say 'hi' to them and then find a new place to be."

"You Skirata really are insane you know."

"Yeah, oh, that reminds me why I sought you out. Jedi Kina Ha is finally finished with Tracyn."

"She's still alive?"

"Of course she is, _dikut_," Jintar rolled his eyes. "There probably isn't an ailment Bardan, Scout, and Kina Ha _can't_ fix. Well, outside of the person already being dead, but even then I wouldn't bet against them. The Kyrimorut has the best med-tech this side of the Core."

"Okay, I have to ask," Doran said. "Why?"

"Why?"

"You're Mandos. The last I checked you Mandos carried rockets, darts, blasters, knives, but nothing science-y or medical-y. You guys kill, kill for money. Never heal."

At that, Jintar patted Doran shoulder. "_My_ family is different, _dikut_. When you have a family where an entire generation is a bunch of aging, genetically modified growth-accelerated clones, you definitely need med-tech. _Especially_ since said clones weren't designed to grow to an old age. They were all meant to die on the battlefield after all. We're lucky our clan's Jedi stay on hand, even with the accelerated aging was fixed, my dad and uncles have all had varying problems."

"Like?" Doran asked curiously. Though he wasn't a medical expert, it was hard to imagine strong men like Ordo having any obvious problems.

"There's a reason why you don't see hundreds of former clone-soldiers running about. Unknown to everyone, the cloners who made them designed their organs, nervous system, circulatory system, and endocrine system to last a lifespan," Jintar said flatly. "The lifespan of the clones was only supposed to be a couple decades. When the aging issue was fixed, Grandpa Kal and the healers discovered the other problems really quickly. A bit too late for some of my dad's other brothers though. When word first got out that the Skirata clan could fix the accelerated aging, thanks to Auntie Vollen smuggling them to Manda'yaim, two-dozen former clone-soldiers outside of the family were the first to sign up. Unfortunately, after the procedure, when they started reaching their limit, their organs still shut down even though they all looked young and healthy. Sixteen were away from the Kyrimorut when it happened, they all died. From the way Bardan tells it, they just dropped dead where they stood. The others like uncles Sull and Dev who live at Bralor's farmstead nearby barely managed to get here in time. Another one of dad's brothers, Yover, had been in the capital at the time, and didn't make it back here either. The incident only made both uncles Ordo and Sull even angrier at Scout, Bardan, and Kina-Ha, Jedi in general, because they believed the Jedi should have used their infinite wisdom and foreseen this complication. Even though that infinite wisdom and mystical power kept them alive long enough for the docs to discover a fix. So we Mandos are good at killing, I won't deny that. But the good Mandos excel even better at keeping their clan whole, hale, and hearty. We do what's best for our clan."

"Not the galaxy?"

"The galaxy doesn't give a ronto's droppings about us. My family had to learn the hard way that the only ones looking out for them are Grandpa Kal and each other. The way Grandpa Kal says it, you can only do so much. You can either stretch yourself thin trying to fix every little thing, and thus not really fix anything at all, or put all your focus into caring for something closer to home. Dad says it's the same with the rest of the Mandos. We can try to fight the _Vongese_ outright, but we'd die doing so since the rest of the galaxy clearly isn't ready to support us. So if the galaxy won't help us outright, why should we help it? Sure we might be taking credits, but those are credits that can later be used to hurt the _Vongese_ when the galaxy is finally able to get off its _sheb _and do something about the _Vongese_."

"And you Jedi overstretch yourself constantly." Ordo's voice came from behind the two teens, nearly giving both a heart attack.

"Damn it _ba'vodu_!" Jintar grumbled. Glaring as his uncle walked by with several large branches over one shoulder and under the arm of his other.

"Just telling the _ad_ the mistake his forbearers keep making," Ordo said matter-of-factly. "The Jedi keep trying to save everyone, keep thinking about the big picture. Meanwhile everyone in the small picture goes forgotten and the Jedi get themselves and those who follow them killed off."

"So what should we do then?" Doran asked, his opinion on the matter wavering as he listened to the arguments.

"Stick to a planet, a single place. Why set out to make the entire galaxy better when there's so much suffering closer to home?" Ordo replied. "Not like your Jedi are doing anything right now even with the _Vongese_ razing a half-dozen planets and sending the galaxy to _dar'yaim_. Protection, please, don't make me laugh. Your Jedi Order can barely protect itself, so how can it hope to protect a galaxy?"

Ordo continued down his own path, leaving Doran blinking at the older man's wake.

"Don't mind his words too much," Jintar said, attempting to take on a light tone. "He's always been…blunt…direct, something like that. Grandpa Kal says that he has no filter and couldn't care less about anyone outside the clan."

"But he's right."

Jintar slugged Doran 'gently' on the arm. "Hey, what did I just say about minding his words. If you Jedi were as inept as he'd make you out to be you wouldn't have survived the Imperial Remnant. Now come on, the _Kyr'tsadika_ is probably awake right now and missing our ugly faces."

**FtF(VI)FtF**

Doran felt his stomach churn and his throat tighten as he placed his hand on the door to the med-bay. Tracyn had been injured because of him, had nearly died saving his life. A girl he had known all of five days. And the worst part was that he knew if he asked why, she'd just say that she was being a Mandalorian, watching his back. He released a slow breath and pushed the door open.

In the corner of the room, on a simple cot, was his protector. Her one good eye was closed, the other half of her face wrapped up in a bandage. He stayed in the doorway for a few long minutes, his eyes wide.

"She will make a full recovery," a tired voice said from his side.

Doran's head jerked in the direction of the voice, then looked upwards at the head situated atop a long neck.

"I am Kina Ha," the Kaminoan introduced kindly.

"Doran," he said in reflex. "You sure she'll be okay?"

"Yes, she will live," Kina Ha answered. "I do regret that I could not save her right eye. I was, however, successfully able to flash-clone her lungs and replace her original damaged organs."

"Baby Wookie Number One, stop lurking over there," Tracyn said softly, her voice surprising Doran. It had a mechanical lilt to it and he had to look back at Kina.

"Mechanical scaffolding for the tissue to regrow around," the Kaminoan explained.

"You better not be looking guilty or feeling sorry for me," Tracyn said, her lone eye still closed. As if on coasters, Doran approached Tracyn's bedside. "It was my choice, _dikut_. And I'd make it again if I had to."

"Thank you," Doran finally managed, taking the last few steps to her bed side.

"_Dikut_," Tracyn repeated, her breath rough. "Said it was my choice, no need to thank me. _Ni cuyi Mando'ad_."

"For some reason I knew you were going to say that."

"Must have used your creepy Jedi powers. The healer said that you saved my life by using them back on the moon.

"I did?" Doran emitted a hoarse laugh. "All I remember is panicking and begging you not to die."

There was another silence, during which Doran reached out and gripped her hand. He almost thought she had gone back to sleep when she spoke again.

"I'm not going back to Gargon," Tracyn murmured.

"You're not?"

Tracyn let out a raspy chuckle. "My lungs are toasted, my throat is half metal, and I've no depth perception."

"But where…"

"Remember, I have about a thousand adoring _Kyr'tsad_ waiting to welcome me home. Several hundred thousand credits through activities I probably don't want to know about. They'll fix me up and make me into the leader they want me to be."

"Thank you."

"Already said you didn't have to…"

"Not for saving me yesterday…but for being my friend. For making Gargon bearable."

"Back at you," she squeezed his hand weakly. "Don't worry, I'm down but not out of the fight. I'll figure out some way to get my group to lay down arms. There's already too much killing in this galaxy as it is."

Doran felt his eyes grow suspiciously wet and he wiped at it with his other hand. "Good luck with that."

"Yeah. Jeban, you out there?"

Doran was about to say that she wasn't, but Dinua answered for herself. "I am…Gedyc."

Tracyn jerked her thumb at Doran. "_Kaysh cuyi ner aliit, tayli'bac?_"

"You sure about that?" Dinua raised a fine eyebrow as she approached Tracyn's bed from the opposite side. "The _dar'manda_ really isn't all that much."

"_Hukaatii'kaysh kama,_" Tracyn stressed. "Please. I know I have no right to ask it of you but…"

"Fine," Dinua cut her off, and then sighed and looked to Doran. "_Dar'manda_, can I trust you with my six?"

"For those not fluent in the language of tough-soldier-ese, what in the world are you two talking about?" Doran sighed.

Identical smirks crossed both Tracyn and Dinua's mouths for a fraction of a second.

Doran groaned. "Really, you're not even going to give me a clue?"

"_K'atini," _both Mando girls said in unison.

"Her question still stands, Baby Wookie Number One," Tracyn said, though this time he could hear the fatigue in her voice. "Will you have her back when you get back to Gargon?"

Doran looked over at Dinua's unreadable face, but he nodded. "Yeah."

"There's your answer, Jeban," Tracyn murmured. "Now all of you go away and let me get my beauty sleep. Don't want my followers revolting against Boba Fett just because I look like death warmed over."

Doran gave Tracyn's hand a goodbye squeeze. "Take care of yourself Tracyn."

"You too….Doran," Tracyn murmured in turn

"Was beginning to think you forgot my name," Doran joked.

"Doran Sarkin Tainer, never," Tracyn said. "Now go, train with Jeban. Become a survivor. When the war is over, I want to run into you one day because the Force wants us to."

"You're not angry at the Force anymore?"

"Kept me alive, kept you alive, maybe it's trying to tell me something," Tracyn shrugged. "Goodbye."

"For now."

"For now."

She shifted slightly, and Doran felt her drift off to sleep. "Thank you," he whispered one last time before stepping away from her bed.

As quietly as he could he left the medbay. Dinua and Jintar were awaiting him out in the hallway.

"Well," Doran breathed. "What's next?"

"_Dikut_," Dinua deadpanned. "You survived your first week at Gargon. You still have the rest of the year to go."

"Oya," Doran said sarcastically. "Can't wait."

"That's the spirit," Jintar clapped his back hard enough that Doran staggered forward a few steps.

"Hey, watch it Muscles!" Doran rolled his arms slightly to shake off the affectionate tap. "Not all of us are Mando-crazy."

"You're just plain crazy," Dinua interjected.

"But we don't choose our family…actually, in our case we do," Jintar laughed. "You sure about sticking around with us?"

"Not really, but seems like a good idea at the moment."

Dinua shook her head. "Voluntarily hanging around us Mandos. Come. For all those who can't. Let's go. Let's live."

**FtF****(Story Arc End))FtF**

**A\n:** Story Arc End. Will add another arc if the muses strike me. Hope you've enjoyed Doran's first week!


End file.
